Resident Evil Cold Grave
by eisnerenwulf
Summary: In a small Alaskan settlement,Deputy Sheriff Drake Hartmann gets caught between a snowstorm and a town full of zombies!Can he save his grandfather and himself?And what is the agenda of the mysterious Ada Wong?Disclaimer I dont own RE, but I ought to.
1. Prologue

"Razor's cutting deep this year," the Sheriff said from behind his Deputy, cups of steaming coffee in both hands. He handed one to his young subordinate and looked out the window the Deputy was looking through. Snow had fallen as the townsfolk went about their daily routines despite the cold weather, miners headed for the coal mine, kids fresh from school already declaring war on each other with snow balls. The old lawman smiled as he watched a young girl no older than 9 selling a snowball like it was a gunshot. "We might need to tell the folk to get ready for the worst," Sheriff O'Neil continued taking a sip of the warm coffee.

Deputy Sheriff Drake Hartmann nodded as he gulped the beverage. "Can't be that bad, I mean the worst storm was nearly 50 years ago. But I see your point.Still,some of the guys won't be happy,they hate to board up their homes and nail everything to the floor for a false alarm," Drake said.

The Sheriff sighed. "Welcome to Stonefeather," he lamented as he finished his coffee. Drake smiled at the familiar comment. Stonefeather Lake was a small Alaskan mining community off the Canadian border. The townsfolk lived simply,most of the men worked the mines which was the life's blood of the town. The town was peaceful except on payday when the boys had a tendency to go wild at the local watering hole, Al's. Still it had a peaceful and simple charm that made Drake feel content. It was his hometown after all, nearly three generations of Hartmanns had worked its minessince his Great Grandfather Klaus left Germany after the Great War. Upon thinking of his father, Drake's thoughts drifted to memories of his father, Kris Hartmann whom had passed on recently after an unfortunate mining accident. The bitter coffee turned sour in his mouth as memories, good and bad flowed through his mind.

"We'll probably need to tell the Mayor," Drake managed as he finished the warm coffee. O'Neil nodded, his blue eyes resembled those of a tired hound.

"I suppose.Dave likes to feel in control.Who am I to deny him that?" the Sheriff said as he reached for his jacket and hat."I'll see the Mayor at Town Hall. Do me a favor kid,could you check on Frank before you head home, let him know about the Razor and tell him to watch himself," O'Neil said as he headed for the door. Drake nodded in response.

"Frank," Drake whispered as the Sheriff left the small building that was the Stonefeather Lake Sheriff's Department. Frank Montgomery was one of Drake's father's friends who served together with him in Vietnam. But unlike his father, Frank re-upped and extended his tour of 'Nam. He didn't come home the same man. He wasn't violent or troublesome but strangely reclusive, holed up in a small cabin on the farside of Stonefeather Lake, only coming into town to get groceries or get some books from the library. Unfortunately his library privilages were suspended indefinately after he was found scribling some numbers at the end of the books. 'Vandalism of public property', Mrs.McDonald, the ancient Librarian called it as she reported it to the Sheriff. Not one for severe punishment, Sheriff O'Neil appeased the old woman by having Frank's library privilages suspended for two weeks. The thought of it made Drake laugh. Frank was a good guy. Strange maybe, but he wasn't what some people thought of him. He wasn't 'Damaged'. Slipping on his jacket, Drake headed for the Frank's cabin in the Department's only car.

The drive to Frank's was uneventful as Drake drove the car carefully over the snow-covered roads that encircled Stonefeather Lake, chain tracks or not, the roads were dangerous when covered in snow and ice. Driving at a comfortable pace, Drake watched as some of the townsfolk skate across the edge of the frozen lake. Young or old, by themselves or in couples, they graced the icy surface of the town's namesake, careful to avoid skating too deeply into the lake where thin ice layered the freezing cold water underneath. A small smile crept across Drake's face as he thought of his father and how he tried to teach him to skate, how much fun he had despite the fact that he spent more time having his knees eat ice rather than skate. Drake snapped out of his daydream and stopped his car at the edge of the forest that encircled the lake. The forest too dense to allow a car in so Drake continued on foot as he made his way to Frank's.

A cold breeze sent a chill up his spine despite the thick jacket he wore. The Razor really was cutting deep this year. The Razor was a storm that plagued the town every three years, the only aspect of Stonefeather that ruined its peaceful charm. It usually wasn't a violent storm, just cold as Hell and caused some property damage, but about 50 years ago, the Razor almost wiped out the town destroying houses and collapsing the mines. The townsfolk should have left, but they refused to considering it a test of their spirit. It gave the people of Stonefeather a sense of pride, something Drake understood. It had been a point of pride for the males of the Hartmann clan to be soldiers, Drake's Great Grandfather Klaus Hartmann, was a decorated German soldier in the Great War, his Grandfather Daniel had seen action in North Africa against the Afrika Korps in WW2, his father in Vietnam and his older brother Kent was killed in action in the Gulf. Drake had left town when he was 18 to sign up, but was oddly rejected when he was found to have a rare inconsistency in his blood. Fearing that he might be susceptible to MCS(Multiple Chemical Syndrome), the Enlistment office denied his application. The rejection devasted Drake for a while before he decided to become a police officer in Cameron City, a crime-ridden berg that tested the young Hartmann's mettle. It was after 4 years of living in that underbelly of crime that Drake received a letter from his grandfather. His father,Kristoff Hartmann was killed in the mines. An unstable shaft,the foreman said.He died trying to save a fellow miner. Like a soldier he refused to let anyone get left behind. He left his badge in Cameron and returned to Stonefeather, feeling ashamed that he never got the chance to say goodbye. After he was done with mourning Drake was approached by the aged Sherrif O'Neil who offered him the position of Deputy Sheriff. Drake accepted, feeling that it was his way of giving back to the town that he was born and raised in.

Drake knocked on the cabin's door and waited patiently for its tenant. Night was falling soon and he wanted to get home to see if his grandfather was okay. Not that the old man needed minding, he was pretty spry for a guy pushing 80, still hitting the mines to earn his keep. It was a small miracle the old man didn't overwork himself to death. "Who's there?" a voice came from behind the door.

"It's just me Frank. Drake,"Drake responded. The door opened to reveal a short man in his late 40s, his hair thin, his brown eyes tired. Frank 'The Fighter' Montgomery, as Kris used to call him. Frank smiled as he welcomed the young Hartmann in.

"Nice to see you again Drake.What's up?" he asked as he pulled a chair for Drake at the small dining table that centred the cabin. The interior of Frank's cabin was as simple as it's exterior. At first glance Drake could already see Frank's bed, a closed door that probably led to a bathroom, a stove and a cupboard on the right side of the cabin and the dining table with 4 chairs. It looked like something out of an old cartoon, simpleyet purposeful.

"Nothing much Frank. Sheriff thinks that the Razor's cutting in deep this year. He just sent me here to let you know to be prepared," Drake explained as watched Frank pour a cup of coffee from the stove. He accepted the warm beverage from Frank as the other man took his seat.

"I got that vibe too. Feels like it's going to be rough. Anyway how are things in town? My suspension still in force?" Frankasked with a smile.

"Unfortunately. Sorry Frank. Another week. You know how old McDonald loves those books. You might as well have been spitting in a church," Drake joked.

"Yeah.Old McDonald .God,I think she's older than your grandfather. How is Mr.Hartmann anyway?" Frank asked.

"Why do you keep calling him Mr.Hartmann? You've both met and talked and you're both vets. Always thought that's like a fraternity," Drake asked.

"He fought a different war from ours your Grandpa. He fought real men, real soldiers and for a real cause. He deserves respect. Me? Its been nearly 30 years and I still feel ashamed of the things I did in Nam," Frank said somberly.

Drake nodded. The thought of the strange six-digit numbers he had seen scribbled in the end of one of the 'vandalized' books urged a question. "Those numbers, if you don't mind me asking,what are they?" Drake asked carefully, afraid to offend his father's old friend.

Frank laughed. "What do you think?" he countered. Drake shrugged. "Well that's for me to know Drake. Us crazy vets have our secrets. You better get going kid. Night's falling. Road's a real bitch in the dark."As Drake stood up to leave Frank called out to him. "Drake?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for dropping by.And thanks for showing me respect," Frank said.

"Don't thank me for what you already deserve Frank," Drake said as he closed the door behind him. Frank smiled as he looked at a small trap door next to his bed.

"Good kid, Kris. Good kid."

Night had fallen by the time Drake reached town. After parking the car in front of the station and locking the keys in the Sheriff's desk, Drake took a slow walk home. The streets were covered in ankle-deep snow and dimly lit by the street lights that aligned them on each side. Drake glanced skywards to see the shining stars. They comforted him as he reached the front porch of the Hartmann household. "Grandpa? I'm home," Drake called out as he entered the house.

"In the living room. Grab me a beer while you're there," came a familiar gruff voice. Drake smiled as he made a detour towards the kitchen, popped open the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. He made his way down the hall, already hearing the sounds of gunfire and the wild holler of Native Americans.

"Cowboys again?" Drake said in disbelief as he handed his grandfather a bottle. Sitting comfortably in his armchair, Daniel Hartmann reached for the frosty drink without taking his eyes off the screen of their vintage television set. Drake took a moment to observe the old man. From a strangers' point of view, Daniel Hartmann couldn't have been older than 50, with his well-built frame, his 1.9m height, his sharp facial features only blemished by a shadow of wrinkles. His steely gray hair and goatee and his brown eyes,that revealed nothing except fire and determination. Yet through some miracle, Daniel Hartmann had escaped growing decrepit or senile even at the age of 77. In his youth, Daniel had enlisted in the Army during World War 2, lying about his age to avoid being rejected. Enlistment officers were lax back then and Daniel fought for his country, taking part in the North African campaign against the Afrika Korps. 'They were tough bastards,' Drake remembered his grandfather saying, 'A real testament to the Fatherland. Maybe as good as Dad, maybe. Got into a scrape with one of them, we both ran out of lead and decided to settle it with knives. Almost got me a couple of times, but I got lucky.' Like his father, Drake had great respect for his grandfather.

"What else is there to watch? It's not like we can pick up much from out here and with the Razor coming we should be lucky if we get the local channels," Daniel said as he took a swing of his beer. The heater had kept the room at a comfortable temperature as Drake took off his jacket and sat on the chair adjacent to his grandfather's. "There was an announcement. Looks like the Sheriff wants us to get ready for the worst," Daniel said to his grandson.

"I know, I was just at Frank's to tell him about it. The Razor might be cutting deep this year and the Sheriff doesn't want to take any chances," Drake told his grandfather. He drank his beer and watched as a Red Indian jumped onto a cowboy's horse, knocking the rider off. "How are things at the mine?"

"Another accident," Daniel grumbled.

"What? When? Why didn't I hear anything when I got back?" Drake demanded.

"No one got hurt. Greg said that if more incidents occur, he might want to seal off the east tunnels," Daniel said,refering to the owner and foreman of the mines, Greg Smithson.

"They should have sealed them off when Dad was killed," Drake growled.

Daniel shook his head. He understood how his grandson felt, after all who wouldn't? "It's not that easy Drake. The East tunnels hold more coal in one shaft than all the West tunnels combined. We'll eventually exhaust the West tunnels, so the rational thing to do is move on to the East. It's dangerous now, but eventually Greg will bring in better equipment from Fort Holden," Daniel explained, naming the town closest to civilisation in Alaska.

Drake shrugged as he finished his beer. "I'm turning in.Gotta help the Sheriff prepare the town. We'll probably need to pay Doc Indrahar a visit tomorrow," Drake said as he got up from his seat.

"Drake," Daniel said, stopping his grandson as he turned to leave the room.

"Yeah?"

Daniel sized up the young man that stood before him. Drake was a spitting image of his own father, Klaus Hartmann. Raven black hair, soft facial features that fitted his kind nature, thin lips, a well-built frame much like himself and the brown eyes that was the Hartmann trait. He looked at his grandson, dressed in the light blue uniform and black trousers of the Sheriff's Department, the standard issue .40 Beretta holstered at his hip and the silver Deputy badge on his right breast. He may not have been a soldier, but he was a Hartmann and Daniel was proud of it. "You wear it right kid," he said, his eyes focused on the Deputy's star. "Your father would have been proud."

Drake smiled as he made his way to the wall behind his grandfather's armchair. Framed pictures adorned the wall, the first being a black and white picture of his great grandfather Klaus, dressed elegantly in a formal German-Prussian uniform, an Iron Cross worn around his throat. Next to it was a picture of Daniel and his unit, and then a picture of Kristoff Hartmann standing next to a chopper, rifle in hand and finally pictures of family, of his mother and brother, Kent. Drake looked hard at those pictures. Four generations of fighting men. For some reason, Drake couldn't feel any pride in himself...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blake Mansion or Casa Diablo as the locals referred to Blake's home was situated east of the lake, in the outskirts of town. Wilson Blake thought little of the town and even less of the townsfolk so as long as they didn't get in the way of his research. Pouring himself a Brandy, Blake mused at what was happening back in civilisation, Umbrella apparently collapsed leaving Wesker to pick up the pieces, an odd cult in Europe that infected a small town with some kind of extinct parasite only to have their ridiculous plans foiled by one man . All child's play compared to what Blake was doing in Stonefeather. "Samson!" bellowed Blake as he eased himself into his chair.

Blake's office was elegantly furnished with Victorian age furniture. A large desk occupied a space before the large window behind Blake's seat, a wide bookcase sat on the left side of the room opposite the fireplace and an over-flattering portrait of himself hung above the warm fires. Blake sipped his Brandy again as he waited the arrival of his trusted Manservant. Looking at the screen of his computer, Blake re-read the message he had received earlier from his employer. There was a war going on between the upper echelon that was once Umbrella's board of Directors. With Umbrella's apparent collapse there was opportunity to be found by the ambitious as members of the Upper echelon raced to claim what was left of Umbrella as their own. So far Wesker and his employer were ahead in the race to rebuild Umbrella but Blake's employer had a wild card up his sleeve. Him. Well, his research to be exact but he was just as valuable, so valuable that he had Blake move his entire operation to a little hick town away from civilisation. 'At least he set me up well,' Blake thought. His employer's plans were coming to fruition and was coming to claim his ultimate weapon, all Blake needed was to prepare for his arrival. 'Then maybe I can get out of this miserable shithole.' A knock on his door returned Blake to reality as Samson entered his office. "What took you so long?" Blake demanded.

Samson bowed apologetically. "Forgive me sir, but the Sheriff was here to warn us of the coming storm, he says it will be harsh and tells us to prepare for the worst," the manservant said. Samson was a tall and skinny man, with an all too fair complexion and his face bony. He looked like a ghoul to Blake but as both a manservant and a lab assistant, Blake found it impossible to fault him.

"I couldn't give a damn about what the Sheriff says or for everyone in this God forsaken asshole of civilisation. The boss just sent me an E-mail, the plan is being pushed up. We can expect him in two days," Blake informed his manservant.

Samson frowned. "But sir, in two days, the storm is likely to hit. I doubt he'll be able to find transportation here."

"He has his ways," Blake replied as he poured himself another Brandy.

"But it all seems...too coincidental," Samson said, concern evident in his usually deadpan voice. Blake considered his manservant's concern. In the three years he had spent working with Samson on the project, Blake had come to respect and value Samson's opinions. The other man's concerns warranted his own.

"Perhaps...but maybe this is all part of his plan," Blake said, unsure of himself. "Even so, we best be ready. The equipment is operational?" Blake asked. A curt nod from Samson brought a smile to his face. "Good. Our time is coming Samson. My research will change the face of biological warfare and I hope the first to taste it are these pathetic coal digging hicks."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"A circus," Drake said in disbelief, looking at the irritated visage of Sheriff O'Neil.

"A circus," O'Neil repeated, frustration evident in his voice. "Blew in from Fort Holden about two hours ago. Apparrently our beloved mayor failed to inform his counterpart about the storm," O'Neil shook his head. "You talked to Rajiv yet?".

Drake nodded. "Yeah, the Doc says we've got nothing to worry about. He's been stocked up with enough supplies to last 10 years and Candance and Mrs.Peters are going to help him out when the storm hits," Drake informed the Sheriff.

O'Neil nodded slowly. "Alright, come on kid. We've got to have a talk with the Ringmaster or whoever the Hell runs this circus," he said as he slipped on his jacket. "God I hate clowns..."

By the time the lawmen had arrived near the east end of the town, the circus staff had already begun setting up the large red and white big top. "Crap," whispered the Sheriff as the big top grew larger as they drove.

"Nyet! We cannot bring down the big top! It took us hours to set it up!" yelled Sergei Volkoff, the owner-cum-Ringmaster of the circus. He was a large man with a long flowing black beard that gave him an air of importance. He spoke with a thick Russian accent, made more evident by his agitation.

"I understand. But this is for the safety of your people and property. The people of Fort Holden should have warned you that a storm was coming this way," the Sheriff explained to the big man. All around them, colorful circus trailers were being parked as performers and staff members walked about. Drake noted that some of the townsfolk had come to witness this unexpected suprise. It wasn't usual that a large number of outsiders entered Stonefeather, much less a circus. A young woman, one of the performers dressed in a thick fur jacket gave Drake a flirtatous smile as she passed him. Politely Drake returned the smile and focused on the direction of the conversation.

"Storm? I was told that it was no stronger than a breeze. Listen Sheriff, I understand your concern but my people are experienced. We even did a show in Siberia which is nothing compared to this place," the big man said.

O'Neil frowned."Mr.Volkoff, you're experience aside, there no way you can guarantee the safety of your people. The Razor's a real bitch, pardon my French. And it is within my power as Sheriff of the town to suspend your activities for the duration of your stay," O'Neil pleaded.

"The big top will hold," Volkoff said adamantly.

"You're sure?"

"Da.I thank you for your concern Sheriff but it is unwarranted. Still, I shall respect your wishes to suspend all activities for the duration of the storm, but I will not have the big top brought down," Volkoff said solemnly.

"No way I can convince you otherwise?"

"Nyet."

O'Neil sighed. "Alright Mr.Volkoff. It's your property. I sincerely hope you know what your...". The sound of a feral roar interrupted the Sheriff's words. "What the Hell was that?" the Sheriff asked.

"Ah, yes. Come Sheriff, Deputy, allow me to introduce you to the star of my show," Sergei said with a smile as he led the two lawmen into the big top. The big top's spotlights were focused on a single large cage in the centre of the ring. The cage held an extraordinary beast.

"Gentlemen, may I present to you, Kodiak," Sergei said proudly. The beast was the largest bear Drake had ever seen. Stonefeather was no stranger to bears but this one was nearly twice as big, Drake estimated that it was over 800 pounds . Kodiak stood on its hind legs to reveal its towering height of nearly 9 feet. The Kodiak snarled fiercely as it swung its humongous paw at the bars.

"That's a kodiak?" the Sheriff said, his jaw hung open.

"Da, Siberian born. Much beautiful than the bears you Americans have here. Caught it 5 years ago when it was killing three tigers," Sergei explained. Upon hearing that, Drake felt a little concern as he watched the beast stalk around in its cage, drool dripping from its mouth.

"Smokey he ain't. That cage is secured right?" Drake asked.

Sergei barked out a laugh as he slapped Drake's back. "Not to worry my friend. Kodiak's just a little tired from the trip. And yes, cage is secured," Sergei ensured him. The bear uttered a low growl as it stared at the lawmen. Drake swallowed hard.

"Well...we best be off, gotta make sure the rest of the town is secure. Tell your people to stay in their trailers and avoid going out in the open," Sheriff O'Neil said while looking at Kodiak.

"Da. It will be done. Thank you Sheriff," Sergei said.

O'Neil tipped his hat towards the big Ringmaster and made his way out, Drake following him closely behind. On the way to the car, Drake noticed a young woman in a crowd of on-lookers that had come to see the circus performers. In a town of less then 2000 people, Drake more or less recognized most of the townsfolk but this woman stood out like a sore thumb. She was tall, with short black hair and elegant facial features, dressed in a fashionable red fur jacket and thermopants. Drake thought she may have been an Aluet, one of the Native American tribes that were indigenous to Alaska, but her complexion was far more fair. More Asian. "Let's go kid," the Sheriff said, interrupting Drake's observationof the woman. She turned to meet Drake's gaze, her brown eyes met his. She gave the deputy a small smile and a wink. Embarrassed, Drake turned away and entered the car.

Ada Wong watched as the Sheriff's car drove away. Among the crowd of gossiping townsfolk, she watched as the performers unload their equipment from their trailers while some practised their performances like juggling and fire-eating as a sample for the crowd. It had taken her nearly 4 months to track Wilson Blake to Alaska and another 2 weeks to trace him to Stonefeather. She had yet to meet her contact, the deep cover agent that Wesker had inserted into his rival's organisation or even scout the town. Her timing couldn't have been worse as she had overheard some of the townsfolk talking about a coming storm, the Razor. This complicated things, but Ada had her contingencies. Having enough of watching the performers, she headed to town, her mind lost in thought. She smiled when she thought of the young deputy. 'This town may hold promise after all.'

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Weasel hated flying. No matter how much he psyched himself for a trip, a hollow feeling would clutch at his gut. Or maybe it was just the hundreds of genetic enhancements he had gone through since joining Umbrella. The chopper flew smoothly enough to allow him to nod off but after watching far too many aerial disaster movies, Weasel decided his chances were better if he were awake. Next to him sat the muscular Hammer, formerly a European bodybuilder, now a prized member of Umbrella's Super-Soldier project. He sat dressed in only combat pants and boots with a knife fastened around his left thigh, his large muscles revealed. But what he had in muscles he lacked in the brains department. The big man had no problems sleeping or snoring for that matter as he continued to rest his head on Weasel's left shoulder, drooling on his $800 armani suit. Weasel frowned but did nothing as he avoided looking out the chopper's window.

"Nervous Weasel?" said a smooth, cultured voice before him. Sat opposite of Weasel was Jeremiah Smythe, Umbrella's best hope of survival and his employer . Dressed impeccably in a long black coat, a silk shirt of the same color and a deep purple scarf wrapped around his neck, he was a fair man with dark features and dragon-green eyes that gave him a fearsome appearance despite the his ever-pleasant visage. His white hair was neck-length and neatly combed to give him a gentlemanly appearance. A gentleman was a farcry from what Smythe truly was.

"Sorry boss. I just hate flying," Weasel said, feeling a little embarrassed. Smythe chuckled as he looked out the window of the chopper. Snow fell before a sky of dark gray. A storm was coming.

"It's alright Weasel. After all, you were improved to be able to deal with things on the ground," Smythe said as he turned to look at the young girl to his right. "Are you alright my dear?" he asked the girl. Scarlett merely nodded as she rested her head on Smythe's arm. Weasel never could figure her out. From the day he aligned himself with Smythe, Scarlett or Ms.Scarlett as Smythe would refer to her sometimes was always at Smythe's side. She couldn't have been older than 16, her youthful features further accentuated by the brightness of her blue eyes. She had long blonde hair which she wore in a braid. Dressed in a hooded red fur coat and a similar colored dress underneath, she watched Weasel and Hammer silently by Smythe's side. Since the day he saw her, Weasel had never seen her utter a single word to anyone.

Smythe pulled out a small silver pocket watch from the breast pocket of his coat. He smiled as he looked at the time. "Weasel, wake Hammer up," he asked softly. Weasel elbowed the big man next to him hard and watched as Hammer stirred awake.

"You stupid little girly man. I was having such a great dream of me wrestling Muhammed Ali and Sylvester Stallone in a mud match for the title of best tough guy", Hammer growled at Weasel in his thick European accent.

"That's nice Hammer, but I'm afraid your dreams will have to wait. We're approaching our destination soon," Smythe said as he pulled out a small device from his coat. It looked to Weasel like a small trigger, a red button sticking out from the silver cylindrical object. "Polish yourselves up boys. The stage is set, the actors are here," Smythe said turning to Weasel, Hammer and then Scarlett. "The director is ready," he said, adjusting his coat. "The curtain is rising," he motioned to the dark clouds out the windows. Weasel smiled, Smythe had a flair for the dramatic but always in good taste, not some braindead self-righteous dumbass who tries to make himself sound cool by talking all Victorian. With Smythe, it all sounded as smooth as silk. "And the first act is about to begin," he said finally as his he pressed the button of the trigger...


	2. Act 1

Act 1:Snowblind

The gusty winds of the Razor started to make themselves felt by the time the lawmen returned to to the station. Drake looked at the sky to see the last few rays of sunlight evaporate from sight as dark clouds rolled in. "Might be early," Drake said.

The Sheriff nodded. "Let's get inside. I'll fix us up some coffee," O'Neil said. After a final once-over of the town, the Sheriff wassatisfied that Stonefeather was ready to brace the coming storm. Residents had boarded up their houses and the high school and town hall had prepared shelters in case anyone got left in the cold. Drake checked with his grandfather one last time before coming to the station. 'Don't worry about me kid,' he remembered the old man saying, 'Just do your job.'

The lights were already starting to flicker as the two lawmen entered the station. There was of course a mini-generator down in the basement but Drake was worried that the old machine had seen too many years. O'Neil handed Drake a warm cup of coffee and eased into his chair. "Well, now we wait it out," O'Neil said as he took a sip of the coffee. Standing by the window, Drake nodded. He thought of the Asian woman he'd seen earlier. Stonefeather didn't get many tourists. In fact most of the outside world had never even heard of Stonefeather Lake. Hell, they didn't even have a postal code number, using Fort Holden's Postal services instead. The snow covered the glass of the window quickly as the wind blew strong and unchallenged. He wouldn't want to be out there unless he had to.

"So Drake," the Sheriff began, "I never asked you about your time away. How was your time in Cameron City?"

Drake placed his coffee on the sheriff's desk and sat on one of the guest chairs before it. He contemplated the answer. "Well sheriff...it was rough," Drake said with a hint of sorrow.

"Rough? How so?" O'Neil pressed on.

Drake gave the window behind the sheriff a glance. Darkness had fallen over Stonefeather, the Razor had begun to descend. "Cameron was a rough place. It was a cop's nightmare. Gangs, organized crime cartels, murderers, rapists. You name it Cameron had it," Drake paused, his eyes lowered to his shoes. "There was a suicide every other week. It wasn't pretty. I don't know how I managed to stomach it all. I spent 4 years there hoping that it could get better..." Drake trailed off. He gave Sheriff O'Neil a sad smile. "It didn't."

O'Neil nodded. "The city life. Thank the Lord I never left Stonefeather. Makes waiting out the Razor sound like a walk in the park in comparison," he commented.

"Yeah, well before I got got the news about dad I already had half a mind to quit the force. I wasn't the only one, lots of guys were tired of the killing and the corruption. But...I dunno. Maybe it was because I hated to leave things undone, I stayed on, tolerating all the crap that city could throw at me. Nearly lost my life a couple of times in shoot-outs and raids but I lucked out somehow," Drake continued.

O'Neil chuckled. " I doubt luck has anything to do with it kid. The Hartmanns have always been survivors. Your grandfather is certainly evidence of that."

"The Hartmanns have always been soldiers too. Except me," Drake whispered. Sheriff O'Neil raised his eyebrow.

"You think less of yourself just because you're not a soldier?" he asked.

"Well...maybe. I don't know. When Kent went off for the Gulf when I was 10, I remembered how proud my family was of him. Kent and me weren't the best of brothers. I mean, at the time he was doing to me what all big brothers did to their younger siblings, making my life miserable..." Drake paused as he remembered his older brother's face. "When the government courier came down from Fort Holden, I remember the look on my father's face, sad yet proud at the same time as he accepted the colors," Drake looked up. "I guess I wanted them to feel the same for me. Not that my dad ever treated me differently, it just that I felt it was sort of my family duty since Kent was dead," Drake explained.

As the Sheriff started to say something, a sharp pain seized his chest. His clenched at his chest as he bowled over knocking his cup of coffee to the floor. "Sheriff!" Drake cried as he rush to his side. "Sheriff? Sam? What's wrong? What's..." Drake's eyes went wide as he felt his blood boil within his veins. He fell to his knees as his mind sent him into a state of vertigo. His stomach churned as his chest burned, his legs kicking wildly as he tried to fight the spasm. Drake puked his guts out on the floor, before passing out he heard the window shatter and the screeching of violent winds...

_'Put the gun down,' Drake yelled at the thug, his own firearm aimed at his target. 'Fuck off cop!' came the familiar reply as the thug continued to manhandle his female hostage. Her sobbing and cries for help filled the night sky and unnerved Drake. Where was Andy? He couldn't handle this by himself. 'Back away man! I ain't fucking here! I swear you come close, I'll put a bullet is this bitch's face!' A drop of sweat rolled down Drake's face, in the darkness of the alley, he could miss his shot. But what if he didn't take the shot? What if Andy didn't arrive in time? Drake backed away slowly. 'Okay man,' Drake said,'I'm going to put the gun away and I'm backing off. Just don't hurt the lady,' Drake said as he slowly holstered his gun. 'That's right, back off or keel her man' the thug said, he voice thick with anxiety and fear. 'Let the lady go man. Do that and I'll leave you alone,' Drake pleaded. 'Fuck man! Don't you tell me what the fuck to do! I'll blow your brains out!' he threatened. As Drake's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that his perp was just a kid, 18 maybe less. His gun was jammed into the temple of the young woman he was trying to rob, the weapon shaking in his hands. 'Okay okay. You're the boss man. You're the boss. Just let the girl go. Don't do this man. Don't throw your life away,' Drake said softly. The kid was on the verge of tears. Probably looking for a quick score, a quick hit and run. Never thought he'd run into trouble, thought the gun would scare anyone. Drake was scared, but so was the young woman he was trying to save. He had to do his best. 'Listen man. You're only making this worse on yourself. You kill her, you'll have the cops on you, you kill me, they'll hunt you down like a dog,' Drake said, trying not to make his words sound like a threat. He heard the sounds of footsteps behind him. Andy? His peripheral vision showed him that his partner hid behind a corner of the alley, gun drawn. 'Just let the lady go and we won't bother you okay?' he said. The thug pointed his gun at Drake, the young officer's heart skipped a beat. He returned the gun to the woman's head, panic clouding his judgement. After what seemed like an eternity, the kid released his vice-grip on the woman and pushed her roughly towards Drake. Drake caught her as she stumbled forward, her tears rolling down her cheeks. The kid took a step forward. It was all a blur as Drake turned to see Andy open fire. His eyes went wide as the perp went down on his knees, his white top stained with blood. 'NO!' Drake screamed as he rushed to the kid's side. Holding him in his arms, the kid's lips trembled as he tried to say something, a trickle of blood rolling down his chin. Andy stood over them, gunsmoke still emitting from the barrel of his weapon.'He had a gun Drake,' he said soberly. 'He had a gun..._

The sound of the wind stirred Drake awake. Spitting out some blood Drake rose to his feet slowly. The lights were out and the storm raged on. His head was a mess as he leaned against the desk to regain his balance. 'What the Hell happend?' he wondered. He put his hand on his chest where he had felt the pain earlier. 'Was it a heart attack?' Drake thought. His thoughts snapped back to Sheriff O'Neil. "Sam?" Drake called out in the darkness. "Sheriff?" he called again again as he stumbled around in the dark. Tripping over something, Drake fell hard. He turned to make out what he had tripped over. It was the Sheriff, laying on the ground facedown . "Sam?" he whispered as he shook the Sheriff gently. "Sam?" he said again. O'Neil began to move, raising to his feet slowly. "You okay Sam?" Drake asked. The Sheriff made no reply as he swayed from side to side. Drake thought he still wasn't lucid. "Sheriff?" Drake said as he put his hand on the Sheriff's shoulder. The man turned to face Drake, his eyes hollow, his mouth agape. Drake removed his hand from O'Neil's shoulder. Something was wrong. "Sam?" Drake whispered, uncertainty crept in his voice. O'Neil let out a low moan as he slowly walked towards Drake. Drake took a few steps back. "Is something wrong? Sam?" Drake asked.

O'Neil reached for Drake with a sharp hiss. Drake's eyes widened as O'Neil put him in a vice-grip. He sunk his teeth into Drake's shoulder, shaking his head violently like he was trying to tear Drake's arm off. Drake let out a cry of agony as he struggled to be free of O'Neil's grip. He elbowed the possessed Sheriff in the back of his head with blows that would have rendered a normal man unconscious. O'Neil released Drake's shoulder, his teeth stained with blood. Holding his injured shoulder, Drake rushed for the door, O'Neil...or whatever it was trailing behind slowly. Snow covered Drake's eyes as he kicked open the department's door, running into the streets. The storm was in full force, the harsh arctic winds blowing thick snow in every direction, blinding him. Drake drew his weapon, his adrenaline and fear fueling him. The snow beneath him was stained with red drops of blood as he walked. Drake could hear the sound of low growls all around him. The snowstorm kept Drake from seeing anyone, he could barely see their shadows.

"Anyone out there? I need help!" cried Drake as he shielded his eyes from the snow. Two figures came into view. "Hey! Over here!" Drake called out as he pressed his hand down on the bite marks O'Neil had left on his shoulder. The hisses and moans grew louder as the two figures drew closer, the sound of footsteps on snow behind Drake revealed that O'Neil was behind him. He turned and pointed his gun at O'Neil. "I don't wanna hurt you Sam!" he yelled. Sam responded with a shrill cry as he rushed forward, ignoring the weapon in Drake's hand. Drake's eyes widened as he unloaded his weapon, firing two shots, but the storm clouded his vision, his first missing O'Neil entirely, the second catching O'Neil in his left arm. Growls and hisses from behind him caught Drake off guard as two men grabbed him, their eyes as hollow and empty as O'Neil's, their mouths hung open. Drake swung his gunhand, smacking one of them in the face with the grip of his .40 Beretta. Released, Drake fired blindly at them hearing the sound of pierced flesh as he moved away from them. There were three of them now, Sheriff O'Neil and two of the townsfolk. What the Hell happend to them? Why were they attacking him? Thoughts raced through Drake's mind as he moved forward, completely oblivious to where he was or where he was going. He breathed hard, the wound and the cold were getting to him as his muscles began to tighten and his eyesight began to blur with all the snow that blew into his face.

Something gripped his foot. Drake stared in horror as another possessed townsman rose from the ground, his body covered in a layer of snow. Shocked, Drake instinctively blew off the creature's head, warm gush of blood spewed onto his face and uniform. He fell over, still in shock over what he had done. A growl caught his attention as O'Neil pounced on the fallen Drake,his cold hands tightening around Drake's neck. Hot drool fell onto Drake's face as the Sheriff drew closer,his blood-covered mouth wide open. Drake tried to break O'Neil's grip but failed. Feeling the air leave him Drake raised his gunhand to O'Neil's head, a tear rolling down his cheek. He pulled the trigger. Warm blood and bone covered Drake's face as part of O'Neil's head disappeared. O'Neil hands loosened it grip on Drake's neck as his body slumped over Drake's. Pushing the Sheriff off him, Drake looked at what was left of the Sheriff's face. "I'm sorry" was all he could manage as the Sheriff's blood created a crimson stain on the snow. Hearing the sounds of more growls and hisses, Drake knew he had no time to feel sorry. He took two clips of ammo from the Sheriff's belt and his silver Sheriff's Star. Scanning the surroundings, he could barely make out where he was. A fallen signpost told him that he was less than a block away from his house.'Grandpa!' Drake thought suddenly. Putting the Sheriff's Star in his pocket, Drake raced in the direction of his home, his heart beating faster as the snowstorm grew harsher...

The howling winds did little to conceal the sounds of deep moans and low grunts that echoed through the night, putting Drake on edge as he rushed for to his home to find his grandfather. The force of the Razor seemed against him as the strong winds fought the young man at every step, the thick snow rendereing his sight nearly useless. But Drake had to try. His grandfather was all the family he had left. He breathing grew shallow as he sprinted in the direction of his home, relying on sheer instinct that he was on the right path and praying that he'd have no more encounters with any possesed townspeople, 'possesed' being the only word that Drake could think of. Why else would the Sheriff and some of the townsfolk attack him? Like a mockery to his prayers, Drake stopped as he made out a number of shadows in his path, the snow concealing their identities. The shadows drew closer, silent and ominous. Not taking any chances, Drake raised his weapon. "Who's there?" he yelled over the howls of the Razor. The shadows drew closer, Drake's question unanswered. Drake's stomach tightened as he yelled out the same question again. Again, no answer. He took a few steps back, his heart pounding. Then he heard it, the sound of boots on snow...behind him. Drake turned around to see six or seven men and women, all swaying from side to side, uttering low growls and grunts. Drake turned to where he saw the shadows, now replaced by a number of men and women. "Christ Almighty," the words escaped Drake's lips as he watched in horror as the townspeople rushed him from all sides.

Drake fired blindly, unsure if he nailed a single one of his attackers. A hiss from behind him forced Drake to roll to his left, shooting again as he recovered from his roll, he could make out that two his attackers had fallen, but the rest continued to approach him, unfazed by the gun or the loss of their comrades. A woman popped out from the snow behind Drake, seizing him in a strong hold, letting out a shrill cry into the night. Drake struggled hard but to no avail as he watched as more of the possesed townspeople approach him from all sides. One of the men drew closer, his arms out and him jaw hung open, the same hollow look in his eyes like Sam and the other townsfolk. Drake shut his eyes as he felt the man's arms on his shoulders. It was over...

A thunderous sound followed by a warm gush of blood awakened Drake as he looked upon his would-be killer, his head missing. The woman behind him released Drake, turning her attention to the origin of the sound, Drake's other attackers followed suit. Drake could barely make out the figure before him, smoke being blown in the wind. "Get down kid!" the unknown figure yelled. Drake's eyes widened as he realised who it was that stood before him, his ears hearing the sound of a reloading weapon. Drake dived for cover as a hole appeared in the chest of his captor. The woman fell to her knees with a sharp cry of agony. Drake rose to his feet, weapon in hand, he avoided the other townsfolk and rushed to his savior's side. Daniel Hartmann, dressed in a simple blue shirt, a brown leather jacket and his trusty shotgun. The two Hartmanns stood side by side, their weapons trained at the figures that approached them. "Wait till they're in clear view," whispered Daniel as he pumped his shotgun. Drake nodded silently. He still had four shots in his own gun and about two spare clips. He needed to make every shot count. The first man to come through the storm got a bullet in between his eyes courtesy of Drake, his friend lost his entire arm with a blast from Daniel's shotgun. The two backed off slowly as more of the townsmen drew closer, the snow befroe them turned into a small field of blood. Drake reloaded his weapon as a woman ran towards him, Daniel covering his grandson by blowing off her head.

"We can't take em' all!" Drake yelled as he shot the kneecaps off an attacking townsman.

"Back to the house!" Daniel responded as he layed down some cover fire.

Drake and Daniel slowly backed their way into their home, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. Drake shut the door as soon as they entered the house, with Daniel already pushing a hefty cabinet before it. The windows were already boarded up, a precaution taken for the Razor. It seemed that that was the only good the Razor had done since this nightmare began. Drake turned to see a dead body lying on the doorway. He turned to his grandfather. "Rat-bastard bit me", he said as he loaded shells into his already empty shotgun.

"What the Hell's happening?" Drake asked as he peered out the cracks of the boarded windows.

"I was hoping you'd tell me. One moment I was getting myself a sandwich then the next I'm on my knees...like something crushing my heart. I blacked out. The I woke up hearing someone banging on the door. Went to check it out when this...freak busted in and tried to make me lunch", Daniel said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to show Drake deep bite marks on his left arm. Drake winced at the sight of the marks, looking at his own that adorned in his right shoulder. He shook his head and returned his attention to the door. They were banging on it hard now, trying to force their way in. Drake's throat went dry as he saw the door slowly splintering at the knob. He kept his gun trained at the door, sweat rolling down his blood-covered face. They kept banging, their moans and growls growing louder. Then...nothing. Daniel and Drake stood, their guns still aimed at the door, unsure of what to do next. Drake gave his grandfather a signal. He'd take a look outside first. Daniel nodded as he and Drake lifted the cabinet away from the door as carefully and quietly as they could. Drake opened the door and winced as he heard the sharp creak at it's hinges. He peered outside, scanning the snow-covered area for hostiles. Keeping low, he took a step out, his weapon ready. He scanned the area again. Nothing, no shadows, no hostiles. Nothing. "Clear," Drake said softly. Daniel crept close to Drake, looking around.

"Where'd the Hell they go?" Daniel demanded.

Drake shrugged. "Beats me," he replied, wiping blood off his face with the sleeve of his light blue uniform. He stood up, taking a gamble that the danger had passed. Momentarily at least. "We need to call for help," Drake said finally. "There might be some normal people out there. We need to help them too."

"Power's down. And even if it wasn't, I saw a couple of cable wires on the streets. Phones lines are probably dead too," Daniel responded grimly, prompting Drake to let out a frustrated sigh. The two re-entered the house, Drake trying his best to get the telephone to work. Only an eerie silence greeted him as he attempted to call for help.

" I need to get back out there," Drake said, his head hung low.

"What?"

"I need to make sure there everyone's safe," Drake said as he headed for the living room, looking at the small cabinet where his family's picture hung above. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved his father's old Ranger combat knife, kept in its black leather sheath. Drake drew the blade and traced a finger along its edge. Sharp as ever. Drake remembered how he got himself into trouble once when Kent dared him to take his father's old knife from the drawer that was often locked when they were kids. He remembered how furious his father was when he saw Drake with the knife. Looking at the reflection of his brown eyes in the steely blade, Drake banished the memories from his mind as he sheathed the knife and tucked it behind his shirt.

Daniel shook his head. "Kid, there's a storm out there. You can barely see your own hand in front of your face. It's too dangerous," Daniel told his grandson as the two walked out onto the front porch.

"I have to grandpa. Sam's dead. He became...one of them. He was going to kill me if I hadn't..." Drake said, pulling out Sam's blood-covered star to show his grandfather. "It's my responsibility now grandpa. I have to make sure that the town is safe."

Daniel looked hard at Sam's sheriff's star. "Christ," whispered Daniel. He gave Drake a concerned look. He'd lost both his son and his grandson, Kent. Drake was all the family he had left. Yet somehow he knew he couldn't talk Drake out of it. He was too much like his father. He was a Hartmann. "Well, if there are some normal people still out there, the smartest thing for them to do would be to stay indoors and off the streets. But maybe they could have headed for the shelters in Town Hall or the High school. It'd make sense if they did. Strength in numbers and all," Daniel said with uncertainty.

Drake nodded. "It's a longshot. But it's better than nothing. We'll check the High school first. If I remember, there's a bomb shelter underneath it. The townspeople who haven't gone crazy would probably hole themselves up there. There's enough supplies to last a year there," Drake said.

"You go on ahead first. I need to check on some friends. See if they're okay," Daniel explained.

"But grandpa..." Drake pleaded.

Daniel gave Drake a wolfish grin, patting his shotgun. "Don't worry kid. I've got more fight in me left," Daniel said with false bravado. He was scared. Perhaps even more frightened than Drake was, but his grandson had to do his duty, he didn't want to worry him. "I'll meet you at the school as soon as I'm done."

Reluctantly, Drake nodded. As he turned to leave Daniel stopped him. "Wait. You can't possibly go running blind out there with those things prowling about," Daniel said. He took aff a pair of goggles that hung around his neck. "Anti-flare goggles, from my soldier days. They won't help much but at least they'll keep the snow out of your eyes," Daniel said.

Drake accepted the goggles from his grandfather. "What about you?" he asked.

"Got another pair," Daniel lied. Drake considered his grandfather's answer for a moment before turning to face the storm. "Good luck kid," whispered Daniel as he watched his grandson disappear into the snowstorm. "And God help us all."


	3. Act 2

Act 2:Whispers

Ada Wong crept silently across the snow-covered roads of Stonefeather, her eyes shielded behind her multi-function goggles, scanned the area for zombies. That's what the townspeople had become, zombies. She'd seen it too many times not to know, first in Racoon city and then in Europe. Both times she had been prepared, this time was no different. Dressed in Umbrella standard issue combat gear that had her signature Red Butterfly symbol emblazened on her right arm, she held the grip of her black Glock 18. The Glock was never really her weapon of choice, but it was easier to conceal and reliable. And in the storm that she stood within, reliabilty was imperative.

It was hours earlier, around the same time that the storm hit, that Ada heard the deafening screams of people in pain in her room. She had checked the bodies of the townsfolk, finding no pulse in any of them. Instinct told her they wouldn't stay that way. Ada switched her goggles to IR mode, looking around carefully. She had already encountered and taken care of a few zombies easily but had witnessed first-hand their apparent ability to conceal themselves under the thick snow. She wasn't taking any chances. Ada could barely hear the beep of her communicator over the howls of the wind. She strode towards a dark alley, being careful not to be spotted. Whipping out her communicator, she prepared herself for her report.

"Status," came the emotionless voice of Albert Wesker, his picture flickering on the small screen of the communicator. Wesker as usual wore his trademark black sunglasses that concealed his unique mutated eyes. He sat calm and contemplating as he awaited Ada's response.

"There's a problem. A virus has been released," Ada said, her husky voice betraying nothing.

"What kind?" Wesker asked.

"Unconfirmed," replied Ada.

"Hmm...considering that you haven't been infected means its not airborne. That rules out the T-Virus. Perhaps it's Blake's product," mused Wesker. "Were there any signs of infection before the BOWs appeared?" Wesker asked again.

Ada frowned. "None. It seemed as though it was...timed. Your satellites can't get anything?"

"Nothing. This storm makes a perfect cover for whatever Smythe's planning. Reports say that the storm may last a day or so," Wesker said, referring to a sheet of paper he held up. The screen now flickered with static."Regardless, the mission must continue. After your failure to retrieve a real Las Plagas sample, my plans have been pushed back considerably. With Marcus and Ashford dead my rise to power should have been easy now that Ozwell has to deal with the government. But now I must deal with Spencer's lapdog Smythe," Wesker continued. "Find your contact, retrieve Blake's documents and a sample of this virus and return to me. And Wong, failure is not an option." With that the communicator's screen went black, leaving Ada to her own devices. She kept the gadget in one of her suits many pockets. Jeremiah Smythe, the man, the myth, the enigma. Since joining up with Wesker, Ada had often heard that name being spoken by both Wesker and the other Umbrella staff. She'd never seen him and even after thorough research, Ada had come up with nothing to even prove this elusive threat's existance. There were stories that Smythe was not human or was one of Ashford's creations during his attempts to recreate Veronica Ashford but nothing solid. All that Ada knew was that Smythe made the usually calm Wesker uncomfortable, and that meant he was a force to be reckoned with.

The sounds of gunfire caught Ada's attention. 'Survivors?' Ada wondered. Switching her goggles to IR, she headed into the storm once more, following the sounds of gunfire. By the time Ada arrived, all that greeted her was the sight of bodies and blood stained snow. She crept quietly towards a few empty bullet shells that lay on the snow. She picked up one of the shells and held it gingerly between her fingers. Her trained eye noted two sets of footsteps before the bodies. Two of them, one armed with a handgun, the other a shotgun. Ada tossed the shell to the ground and followed the footsteps to a small house, it's door left wide open, a few bodies lay before it. She considered entering the house but decided against it. She didn't have much time on her. Then again, she was in one difficult situation, unfamiliar territory and on deadly ground. Perhaps she could use these survivors to her advantage. Pulling off the velcro Umbrella patch from her infiltration suit, Ada trailed a set of footsteps with drops of blood. A wounded survivor. Much more easy to manipulate. Ada managed a small smile. There might be some hope yet...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Smythe gave a casual glance at the gates before Blake Mansion. "Hammer," he said calmly, prompting the muscular enforcer to force the gates open with a single push. He looked to his side to see Ms.Scarlett, her face concealed under a red hood of her coat. Scarlett looked up at him, uncertain. "It's alright," Smythe ensured her with a smile as he held her hand. Weasel led the way, walking in a casual stride in his black Armani suit, unfazed by the blistering cold all around him. Behind him came Hammer who scanned the area silently, standing close to his employer and his young ward. "How drawl," commented Smythe as he looked upon the mansion. "Blake never did have any taste," he chuckled. Scarlett nodded in agreement. Standing before the large doors of the mansion, Smythe shook his head as he saw the demon-motiff door knock. Indeed, Blake had poor taste. Smythe nodded towards Hammer who kicked the doors open. Smythe and Scarlett entered the mansion first, the lights of the bright chandelier illumanated the brilliant halls of Blake Mansion. Smythe grinned as he noted a portrait of Blake hanging high under the top of the spiral stairs. If there was ever a more self-confident person than Blake, Smythe had never met him. Still for all his faults, Blake had proven he was brilliant, pioneering a hybrid experiment between biological warfare and his own...unique specialty. Smythe let the man enjoy his air of self-importance. He was only human after all. Not surprisingly, Blake came running down his staircase upon hearing the sound of his doors being forced open, his manservant Samson close by.

"Mr.Smythe!" Blake exclaimed as he stood before Smythe, a ridiculously large grin dominated his rudy face. "We were worried you wouldn't make it with the storm. My instruments told me that you had..." Blake trailed off as he watched as Smythe handed Samson his coat and helped Scarlett remove hers.

"Yes. I felt that it was time to put that little boast of yours to the test. I must admit Wilson, I'm impressed. I was nearly 90 miles away and this storm was already descending. I've seen the effects of your masterpiece. Excellent work," Smythe praised. If Blake's smile could have grown any wider, it would have. For years Wilson Blake had worked for Jeremiah Smythe, never had the man ever praised him in anyway. "Infection time?" Smythe asked as he followed Blake to his office, Samson, Hammer and Weasel following behind them.

"Two hours," replied Blake proudly. "No symptoms. No signs of infection. Nothing. The fools never realised that'd they had been infected for months now," Blake said as he opened the door to his spartan office. Scarlett and Smythe took their seats across Blake's as they waited patiently for their host. Blake poured Smythe and himself some Brandy to celebrate. He had some wine down in the cellar but felt that he needed Smythe approval first. It was his decision that decided if the project was a success after all.

"And no signs of trouble?" Smythe asked as he took a sip of the alcoholic drink.

Blake shook his head. "None whatsoever. We've preped the Self-Destruct device and the prototype. As per your orders, I've encrypted all my documents and files on the project to your specifications," Blake said as he lowered himself into his seat.

"Well done Wilson. Well done," Smythe said as he finished his drink. He looked at his pocket watch. "Weasel?" Smythe called.

"Yes boss?"

"Look around town. Seal off any possible escape routes and find any survivors. Deal with them accordingly," Smythe said as he handed Blake his empty glass.

Blake watched as the young man dressed in the Armani suit turned to carry out his orders, puzzled. "Sir...I doubt there are any survivors. The infection ratio is a hundred percent. No one could have been left unaffected," Blake said, suddenly wondering if Smythe was testing him.

"You'd be surprised at the number of times I've heard that Wilson. One can never be to sure especially with biological warfare. Umbrella's failures in Racoon City certainly holds testament to that. And besides, I had hopes that a certain guest may have dropped by. Someone I'm eager to meet." Smythe grinned. "This is very good Brandy", commented Smythe as he finished his second glass of the drink. "Perhaps your manservant would like to join us in a toast? After all, he has earned it, haven't you Matthew?"

Samson's heart froze upon hearing his real name being uttered. He backed away to the door slowly, only to bump into Hammer who gave him a menacing smile. The tall ghoulish man stared at the green-eyed Smythe who approached him slowly. "How did you..."

"Know?" Smythe cut him off. "It was fairly simple. Around the same time I had Blake prepared to move his operations, I received reports of one of Wesker's agents being killed in Europe. A man with some lab experience. Sad thing about Wesker is that he thinks a death is good enough to cover anything. It gets old quite quickly I'm afraid", Smythe said as he came closer to Matthew. Hammer grabbed his arms and forced the spy to his knees before Smythe's feet. "I decided to allow you to continue on your assignment. I know just how confident Wesker is of his deep-cover agents so I knew you'd perform well in your adopted role until you had the opportunity to report your findings to your superior. Your first mistake was assuming that I wouldn't know. Your other was thinking that you'd get away with it." Smythe bent down to look Matthew in the eye, his fiery green eyes burning into the depths of Matthew's soul. " Betrayal leaves no room for error," whispered Smythe as he rested his hand on Matthew's right shoulder. Matthew's eyes widened in horror as Smythe's hand rested on his face, his fingers sinking through his flesh and bone. His screams echoed throughout Blake Mansion as the darkness claimed him, Smythe's last words replayed in his mind: 'Betrayal leaves no room for errors.'

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stonefeather Lake High was not a large school by most urban standards, by in a town of Stonefeather's size, it was considered to be slightly overbuilt by most of its denizens. The town itself only had about 700 teenagers and more than a third of that number either attended the school in the distant Fort Holden or went straight to work in the coal mines. Drake himself wasn't a very keen student of Stonefeather high, the darkened halls he treaded silently reminded him of a difficult education, one that consisted of detention and re-tests. Drake wondered why he would be thinking of his childhood at such a grave time. The main hall of the school was no different from other schools, footlockers lined each side as far as the eye could see. He had yet to encounter any townsfolk, normal or otherwise, and after peeking into some of the classrooms, decided that they'd probably stay within the safe confines of the bomb shelter under the school.

A short trip to the school's nurse's office allowed Drake to clean the bite wounds on his right shoulder, wrapping the blood-dried wound loosely with some wire gauze bandages he managed to find. He tried looking for a thick jacket to protect him from the cold. Running around Stonefeather in the middle of a snowstorm only wearing a shirt and a white undershirt wasn't exactly the smartest thing any man would do, but as luck would have it, there was no jacket or coat to be found, leaving Drake to battle the Razor in only his blood-stained garments. As he exited the Nurse's office, Drake heard the faint sound of footsteps. He drew his .40 Berreta, taking in a deep breathe as he scanned the darkness all about him. Indeed, the town's power had failed completely, but the school was to supposed to have been equipped with a working back-up generator. Why hadn't anyone operated it? ' Cause their probably dead', Drake thought, cursing himself immediately at even thinking so grimly. As he made his way through the school towards the basement, Drake heard the sound of footsteps again, and this time he was sure it wasn't his imagination. A putrid smell stabbed into his nostrils, forcing Drake to cover his nose. The basement. It was coming from the basement. Which lead to the shelter. Drake's heart pounded hard as he raced to basement door, kicking it down as he entered. Nothing. He turned rushed down several flights of stairs only to face another door. This one made of metal, a Radiation symbol painted on the door. the entrance to the bomb shelter. The pungent smell returned once more, stronger than ever. Cold sweat rolled down Drake's face. It was coming from behind the door. Against his better judgement, Drake slowly turned the handle of the steel door and pulled it gently. It was unlocked. The smell grew unbearable. Yet...familiar. Drake steeled himself as he swung the door open, weapon ready. What greeted was something he could never hope to prepare for.

The children. Their bodies chewed apart, limbs torn off, faces gone, replaced by blood, flesh and bone. The floor covered in a sea of blood and bodies. Drake hurled, turning away from the gruesome sight, his eyes tearing up not only from the strong smell but also from the fear that gripped him. Trying to regain his composure, Drake blanced himself on the grip of the nearby staircase, refusing to look back at the sight behind him. He rubbed his face. He took a quick glance behind, and returned his gaze to the floor. Spitting out the foul taste of vomit in his mouth, Drake shut his eyes in thought. He needed to find survivors. There had to be a survivor in that...bloodbath. There had to be. He drew in a deep breath and turned to face the bedlam. The sound of the blood beneath his shoes rippling as he walked sickened Drake. He tried to avoid looking at the faces of the fallen, only checking pulses at the arms...for those who still had arms. Nothing. Dead. All dead. But how? And why were the bodies mutilated in such a beastial manner? A sound of a blood spurt caught his ear, then the sound of something being torn off...and chewed. Drake's eyes adjusted to the darkness to make out a figure, an adult on all fours over the body of a child. The adult's head moved violently from side to side, the bloodied sound growing more vicious. Drake felt his gut tighten as he saw what was in its mouth: a child's small intestines. Drake fought the urge to hurl as he backed away slowly.He heard a groan from behind him. And another. And another. Drake clenched his teeth as he corked his weapon. They were already dead. He checked their pulses. Dead. The rippling of blood alerted Drake of a hostile from his left. He swung his gun, firing the weapon as soon as the demonic creature came into sight, sending a lead slug right through its neck. The man crashed to his knees, adding more blood to the already large pool beneath Drake's feet. The sound alerted the others all around. Drake ran out of the room, blasting through several men and women and dived through the door. A man followed Drake closely, a sharp hiss announced his intention as Drake drove his combat knife through his chest and blew the right side of its head off. The others now followed as Drake rushed up the stairs, firing at the horde of dismembered men, women and children as he retreated. Drake's heart skipped a beat as a young boy lunged for his foot, forcing Drake to kick him down the stairs. The possesed boy rolled violently as Drake heard the sound of cracking bones. He rolled into his pursuers, disrupting their chase momentarily, their growls and groans growing louder as they smelt warm blood before them. Reaching the basement door, Drake forced it shut but its locks were splintered, broken when Drake kicked it open. An arm smashed through the clouded glass window of the door and tried to make a grab for Drake, forcing Drake to abandon the door. He fell to the floor, gun ready as his attackers came through it. A rattle of bullets echoed through the halls as Drake's attackers fell one by one before him. Drake's eyes widened as they were cut down in a matter of seconds, blood staining the floor, walls and lockers.

His heart still pounding from both the run and the sound of gunfire, Drake slowly turned to see a pair of well-shined combat boots, slowly looking up to see a slender feminine figure clad in a dark military-styled outfit that lead to a familiar face. Her. The Asian woman. She gave Drake a small smile as she rested a sub-machine gun against her shoulder. "Looked like you needed some help Deputy", she said in a seductive husky voice as she held out her hand. Drake looked at her hand, returning the smile before collapsing from exhaustion. Ada looked at the young man at her feet and raised her eyebrows. Helping the deputy to his feet, Ada could hear the pounding of his heart. She rested the young man against a nearby locker, watching as he panted heavily. "You okay?"

'No', thought Drake but he remained silent. The cold and the fatigue was getting to him. Or was it the horrors all around him? Or the nightmare that he had awakened to? Drake looked at the woman before him. Even under her combat gear, Drake could make out an attractive slender figure that most women would give an arm to have. Her brown eyes showed nothing but calm and strength as strands of her silky raven hair fell over them. There was a scent all about her. Citrus and sandalwood, the scent expelling the pungent stench of death that had seized Drake's nostrils earlier. He noted her exceptional height, almost on par with his, as well as the MP5 sub-machine gun that was slung on her shoulder. "Who...are you?" Drake asked between breaths.

"Later," she replied curtly as she gingerly touched his blood-covered right shoulder with her slender fingers. Had he been bitten? "We ought to have that looked at first," she continued as she looked around the dark halls of Stonefeather high. "There a nurse's station here?" she asked. Drake nodded and led the way, walking sluggishly.

In the dark confines of the nurse's offices, Drake watched as the mysterious woman searched for the right medical supplies or for a medical kit. Sitting atop on of the two beds that had been prepared for sick students Drake saw the contents of a first aid kit scattered on the polished floor. His handiwork. "There," he said weakly, pointing to the articles on the floor.

The woman picked up a roll of wire gauze, some cotton pads and a bottle of medical alcohol. "Take off your shirt," she said. Wordlessly, Drake complied, wincing as a sharp pain seized his shoulder, his eyes fixated on a window of the room that showed nothing but the storm that raged into the night . "And your undershirt," she said again, soaking a cotton pad in alcohol. Drake gave her a skeptical look. "Got something to hide?" she teased, giving Drake an easy smile. Drake obeyed her, pulling off his blood-stained white shirt, the bandages on his right shoulder coming loose with every movement.

Ada looked at the poor dressing around the wound and shook her head. "Your handiwork I assume?" she asked looking the young man in the eyes.

"I was in a rush," was all he offered.

Ada nodded, pulling the bandages free off the shoulder, exposing the injury to the cold. As Ada suspected, he had been bitten by a zombie, but something struck her as odd. Examining the wound, she noted that scabbing had already occured, blood dried over the bite marks, forming an unsightly brownish crust. She noted the man's flesh: still firm and no signs of discolouration. The wound itself showed no signs of infection, normal or otherwise. By right this man should have been turning into one of them minutes after being bitten, without the proper vaccine that Ada had been injected with after joining Wesker to protect her from the deadly effects of strains of the T-Virus. Yet he seemed unaffected. 'Luck perhaps', Ada thought, 'Or maybe the virus is in recluse'. Ada dabbed the alcohol-soaked pad on the wound anyway, seeing the deputy wince as he felt a stinging feeling on his flesh. Ada discreetly observed the young man. He had a well toned body, lean like a swimmer's or a runner. His sharp features seemed downcast against his soft face, his exhaustion apparent in his dark brown eyes. Though young, his body was not without scars. Two scars sat under the bite marks on his right shoulder. Ada recognized them immediately as the result of gunshot wounds. Another was a clean scar that trailed down the side of his arm, most probably made by a knife or a sharp blade. He shivered slightly, his body exposed to the elements. Ada quickly dressed the wound, pressing a large bandage onto the bite marks and wrapping it tightly with the wire gauze.

"Thanks," Drake said as he watched her finish. He slipped on his white undershirt, careful not to strain the shoulder too badly. The woman stood before him, her hands at her hips, a dispassionate look on her flawless Asian face. He pulled his shirt on, "Who are you?" he asked softly.

Ada whipped out a leather wallet from one of her pouches and handed it to the deputy. "Ada Wong. Special Investigations Division, FBI," she told him, watching as he examined the ID and small gold-coloured badge carefully. He eyed her for a moment before finally handing the wallet back to her.

"Why would the Feds send one of their own way out here?" he asked. 'Good, he bought it', Ada thought. She made a mental reminder to thank the boys in Intel for hooking her up with the well-forged ID and badge. "Are there any other agents coming to help out?" he asked hopefully.

"No," Ada said apologetically. "I lost contact with my superiors when the storm hit and the power went down. I'm on my own now," she lied. "The name Wilson Blake mean anything to you?" Ada asked she watched Drake return to his feet. Drake considered the question. Around the same time he had left Stonefeather, Wilson Blake had arrived, causing quite a stir in town when he had construction vehicles come down from Fort Holden to build his mansion on the far eastern side of the lake, where the lake met with the range of mountains that crescented the town, marrying water, earth and sky. From what he had heard from Sam, Blake was a supposed businessman who had investments tied up to several oil rigs in Alaska. He was very seclusive, keeping to himself in his mansion that the townspeople had dubbed 'Casa Diablo' for its Gregorian-like architecture and gargolye-decorated roof-top. Apparently he was rather cozy with Stonefeather's unpopular but tolerated mayor David Bernard and it was rumoured that Bernard had struck some under-the-table deals with the so-called oil tycoon. Sam was never bothered with him, disliking Blake as well as his ghoulish manservant Samson for their uppity attitudes and their ego.

"Some oil big-wig who set up shop about four years ago. Keeps to himself in a mansion on the east side of the lake," Drake said, answering Ada's question. Did Blake forget to pay his taxes? What did he do to have a Federal agent come all the way down to Alaska?

"That's his cover story. Wilson Blake is a professional gun runner," Ada said, pausing to allow Drake to digest this new information. "He has several outstanding warrants for his arrest in 14 different countries. He specializes in...exotic weaponary".

Drake raised an eyebrow. "Define exotic."

"Biological weapons. Germ warfare," answered the woman.

Drake's eyes widened. "So that means all that's happening is..."

"I'm not sure," Ada said cutting him off. "It's possible that this may be a result of one of Blake's weapons. I was sent to investigate his operation here in Stonefeather. I arrived just yesterday," she explained.

"I know," Drake said, remembering seeing her for the first time at the Big Top that had just arrived from Fort Holden.

Ada smiled. "Noticed me straight away huh? What gave me away?" she asked.

"It's a small town, not too many people. And there was that rather...bright jacket of yours," Drake explained.

"Red's my favourite colour," admitted Ada.

Drake managed a small smile, cocking his head at the Red Butterfly symbol emblazened on Ada's dark combat suit. " I noticed". He offered her his hand. "Deputy Sheriff Drake Hartmann, Stonefeather Lake Sheriff's Department...but I guess I'm Sheriff now," he introduced himself with a hint of pity in his voice.

Ada accepted the hand, felt the firm grip of the young man. " A pleasure Sheriff Hartmann," she said before breaking the clasp. "Are there any other survivors aside from yourself?" she asked, her tone suddenly serious.

Drake nodded. "Just my grandfather and me so far. I came here to see if anyone tried to find shelter. They...became those things," Drake said in disgust.

"Zombies"

"Zombies?" Drake said dubiously.

"For lack of a better term. Your grandfather, where is he?"Ada pressed on. Usually, old people and young children fell prey to the virus far more easily than most adults. She wondered just how Hartmann and his grandfather had survived it.

"He said he needed to check something. Told me he'd meet me here once he was done," Drake explained.

Ada frowned. "You left your grandfather on his own in the middle of a snowstorm with zombies?" she said in disbelief.

Drake shook his head. "He'll be alright. I know he will," he said with a degree of confidence. "So," he said, rubbing his hands together, "What do we do now?"

Ada contemplated an answer. She needed to inform Wesker of the new developments and to be advised on what to do with Hartmann and his grandfather. They had survived the virus without the vaccine needed to neutralize its effects. It was something worth checking out. "You wait for your grandfather here, get some rest while your at it. I'll look around town for some survivors," she said finally as she handed Drake a blue can-like object. A grenade. "I trust you know how to use one of these?"

"Yeah but...?"

"Don't worry, I'll be in touch. Watch your back Sheriff," she said as she strode out of the room elegantly. Drake watched as her figure disappeared from sight. He looked at the grenade she had given him and sighed. Once again, he was on his own. Once again, he needed to face the nightmare.


	4. Act 3

Act 3: Nightmares Past

Drake rested against the wall of the Nurse's office, under the window. Old trick he learned from a friend of his from SWAT, allowed him to rest, keep out of sight and maintain his position all at the same time. He eyed the door a few metres before him, looking out for shadows through the clouded glass window that adorned the door, gun in his right hand, grenade in his left. He glanced at the grenade for a moment, eyeing the pin on. His eyelids were heavy as he watched the door. Rubbing his eyes, he let out a tired sigh, hearing the winds and the rustling of snow against glass above him. Drake wondered how long the Razor would last. When he was young, Drake's grandfather told him the story about the big one, the deadliest storm to hit Stonefeather over fifty years ago. His Great Grandfather Klaus had just arrived in Alaska with his wife and 5 year old son, hoping to make a living mining coal. Stonefeather was a different place then, a rural town where newcomers rubbed shoulders with Aluets and other Natives and some Russians hoping to find fortunes. Irish settlers were apparently the roughest bunch around, getting drunk on anything for any occasion and causing few vicious scuffles. The African-American settlers were the hardest working of the settlers, earning their keep with long hours in the mines but were still victimized by some white purists that had found their way into town. It wasn't the thriving town it was now, but a community held together by neccesity, the mines providing them their incomes and livelihoods. That all changed when the Razor came, more vicious than ever, destroying homes, buildings and roads. The mines collapsed and hundreds were left to face the elements without proper clothing or shelter, falling prey to frostbite and illness.

It lasted three days, according to Daniel. 'Three days I was cradled against my mother's chest, her warmth keeping me alive as the storm tore through that settlement like a hot knife through melting butter while dad was out looking for survivors. I remembered how my mom argued with my dad after we found a small cave in the woods, about how he shouldn't have to risk his life for people he didn't know or people who heaped scorn on him for simply being German. Let's not forget kid that this was shortly after the Great War and most Germans in the States were giving themselves more English names to avoid being alienated. But not dad. He was proud that he was a German, proud that he was a Hartmann. And he never let anyone make him feel otherwise. He helped those people not because he liked them, but because it was the right time to do. It was something he always said to me: no matter what I grew up to be, I had to do the right thing. My duty, he used to say. Anyway, after the storm ravaged through the town, it wasn't a town of strangers who tolerated each other to earn a living. We had become a town of survivors, a community that had a common thread. We survived the Razor. After that, differences didn't matter. Native, Irish, African and the other settlers re-built Stonefeather Lake together, proud of what they had lived through, never letting differences get between them again'. Drake yawned.

'What I wouldn't do for a cup right now' he thought, thinking about coffee. 'And maybe an assault rifle, a platoon of SEALs and some air support too'. Drake smiled as he shifted his legs. His thoughts drifted to Ada Wong. Drake had worked with Feds more times that he would have liked while he was a cop in Cameron. He'd seen their badges and IDs before and was more or less able to tell the difference between a fake and the genuine article. If Ada's shield was a fake, it was a pretty good one. He wondered about what she said: she had lost contact with her superiors before the storm hit. Why would she have come to Stonefeather unless she didn't know that the Razor was coming? Feds were known to do their homework pretty thoroughly before taking on an assignment, so the info of the Razor must have caught her attention if she'd done some research. But then again, outside the people of Fort Holden and a handful of others, no one else knew about Stonefeather Lake. It was possible that she had little or more likely no information on the small town at all. He frowned when he thought of Blake. He had to check out if what Ada said was true. He tried to move only to have his muscles cry out in protest. He returned to the wall again. 'Five minutes', he told himself. 'Five minutes of rest. No more'. Drake shut his eyes, his right hand gripping tightly around his gun. To his surprise, sleep came quicker than he expected...

_'This the place?' Drake asked Meggan. His crimson-haired partner nodded, her green eyes scanned the street behind them. Cameron's suburbs were peaceful most of the time, partially because the residents of the area had 'connections'. Still there were times they needed to be checked on, this night being one of them. Drake knocked lightly on the door of the quaint looking house, waiting patiently for an answer. 'Can't believe they'd send us out here on St.Patty's' grumbled Meggan as she thumbed the hammer of the black SIG Sauer. 'One less day for you to get drunk Meg. No big loss' chuckled Drake as he watched her freckled face frown. Drake noticed a shadow cover the peephole of the door. He composed himself as he awaited the door to open. A woman in her late thirties opened the door, a chain in place. She looked through the crack of the door, her blue eyes showed concern. 'Ms. Kincaid?' Drake asked. 'Yes?' she replied. 'I'm officer Hartmann and this is Lieutenant Bryant. We're here investigating the disappearances of three young boys. They were last seen in this neighbourhood. We were hoping to ask you a few questions', Drake said. 'No, I'm afraid I don't know anything', she said hastily. Drake glanced at Meggan who responded with a nod. Something was up. 'Ms.Kincaid. Anything would help. Anything'. Kincaid remained quiet for a stir. She closed the door, Drake hearing the sound of metal as she unfastened the door chain. The door opened again, could we come in?' Drake asked, more forcefully. Kincaid's eyes darted from Drake's face to Meggan's. 'Why?' she asked. 'We'd really like to get a statement from you n, fully this time as Ms.Kincaid ushered the two officers in. Drake's trained eyes scanned the house immediately for anything out of the ordinary. It was a rather large house, with tasteful wooden decor and furniture. A number of black and white photographs adorned the walls. One of a dishevelled man seeking shelter under a bridge, a homeless man perhaps. 'You took these?' Drake asked as he took one of the pictures off the wall. Kincaid nodded, her arms folded with a tight look on her face. 'They're nice. You're a professional?' Drake asked again. 'No...It's just a hobby' she replied as she looked around to see Meggan snooping around. It was an unwritten Police procedure; keep the suspect busy with casual conversation while another cop checked the surrounding. A coloured picture atop a round coffee table caught Drake's eye. A younger Kincaid, along with two young girls. 'Your daughters?' Drake asked. Kincaid remained silent, nodding. 'They're very lovely. They must be 19, 20 now?' he said genuinely, Meggan inspecting a shelfin the corner of his eye. 'They would have been' Kincaid replied, her blue eyes downcast. 'I'm sorry to hear that' Drake said, returning the picture to the coffee table. Kincaid looked at Drake, annoyance evident on her expressions. 'Officer...Hartmann? Please, I'm a very busy woman and it's late. For goodness sake, it's St.Patrick's day! If you want to ask me questions then lets just...' a phone ring from the kitchen interrupted Kincaid. 'Excuse me' she said as she stormed off. Drake looked to Meggan as Kincaid disappeared from sight. She shook her head to signify she'd found nothing. Drake frowned. He wasn't a detective but he'd notice all the signs of anxiety a skell or perp would have when a cop came along. But he could have been wrong. He took a moment to look around the Kincaid living room. The air was heavily perfumed by a strong minty smell that would have been pleasant if used in the right amount. Unfortunately, the smell was so overpowering that Drake started to feel light-headed. As he headed for the hallway, another scent made his way up his nostrils. This was a different smell. Drake had almost missed it over the minty air that surrounded him. This one was pungent, like rotting meat kept too long in the fridge. It was coming from behind a door under the stairs. 'Meg,' Drake whispered to his partner. Meggan treaded lightly towards Drake. 'What?' she asked. 'Smell that?' he said. Meggan took a moment to sniff the air. She gave Drake a serious look as she drew her weapon. Drake kept his holstered as he opened the door slightly. A red light greeted him as he opened the door wider. A Dark room. Drake signalled for Meggan to enter first. Wordlessly, the red-haired policewoman complied, holding her weapon in a prepared stance. A dripping sound echoed slightly through the Dark room. Drake's eyes found it difficult to adjust to the red light that illuminated the small confines. Pictures hung on wires showed towers, buildings and people alike, some of Cameron's landmarks captured in black and white. But mostly, were pictures of children. Children playing, children on the bus, children with their parents. Drake looked carefully at the pictures again. Not children. Girls. Young girls. 'Oh God!' yelled Meggan as she came to the end of the room, staring up at what hung over a sink. Drake stared in disbelief, his guts wound up so tight that it hurt. It was the boys...hung from their feet above a sink, their blood dripping into it. Meggan fell to her knees, unable to control herself. Drake noted something else that made his stomach churn. Their genitals. They were gone, bloodied meat instead present over the area. An amateur castration. Drake grinded his teeth as he helped Meggan to her feet. 'Call for back-up' he ordered, drawing his weapon. A shrill scream came from behind them as Kincaid lunged at Drake a knife in hand. Drake dodged her attack but in the small confines of the room was unable to get a clear shot at her. She slashed at him, catching him in his right arm; a long gash tore through the side of his arm. Drake threw a punch catching the insane Kincaid in the jaw, sending her crashing against the sink. He raised his weapon. 'Put the knife down!' he ordered. A mad growl came in response as Kincaid turned around slowly, her eyes crimson in the light of the dark room. Meggan levelled her weapon at Kincaid, sweat drops pouring down her freckled face. 'I said put the knife down!' Drake shouted aggressively. His eyes widened as Kincaid came at them again, knife in hand. Drake fired. Meggan fired. Kincaid was flung back, her head knocking against the sink. Meggan's pants unnerved Drake as he crept closer to Kincaid's fallen body. He looked carefully at her face, her eyes still open, blood flowing freely from her mouth as well as the bullet holes in her chest and stomach. Drake sucked in some air as he bent down on one knee and checked her pulse. A sudden gasp from Kincaid shocked Drake as he jerked his hand away from her. Kincaid's eyes swelled with tears. 'They would have been such nice girls' she whispered between gurgles of blood. 'Such nice girls..._

A hand on his left shoulder prompted Drake to raise his gun instinctively at his grandfather who stared down the barrel of the weapon without flinching. Drake caught himself, de-cocking his .40 Berretta as he lowered it. "Sorry," Drake said as he massaged his temples. Daniel shrugged as he backed away, allowing Drake to stand up. He shook his heard clear and looked at his grandfather. "Found anyone you were looking for?" asked in a hopeful voice.

"No. I checked out the radio tower on my way here. The damn thing's shot to hell. Something ripped it up pretty bad," Daniel said.

Drake frowned. "Ripped it up?" From what he had seen, the townsfolk who had become zombies weren't rocket scientists, following only the scent of warm blood and movement. Why would they destroy a radio array? And if it wasn't them, who?

"I don't think it was them", Daniel said, as though reading Drake's thoughts. 'Them' referring to the seemingly possessed townsfolk. The zombies as Ada called them.

"Zombies," Drake said aloud.

"Zombies?" Daniel said with a frown. "Well I guess this is all pretty reminiscent of a bad George Romero movie I saw once. Alright then, I don't think it was the zombies. They may take a helluva wallop and are sneaky but they're probably the dumbest things on two feet I've ever seen," Daniel explained.

"I was thinking the same," Drake agreed.

"Any survivors?"

Drake shook his head. Daniel sighed. "Christ. Not even the kids?"

"No," Drake said as he looked away from his grandfather's concerned look. "But I did meet an FBI agent," Drake told his grandfather.

"What's a Fed doing out here?" Daniel asked predictably. Drake told his grandfather about Ada Wong, Wilson Blake and how all that had happened might have been Blake's work. "Blake," Daniel spat out the name like venom. "I knew that bastard was trouble from the start. Bernard was acting pretty suspiciously after Blake arrived" he said naming the Mayor of Stonefeather Lake, David Bernard.

"Suspicious? How?" Drake asked.

"Dave was a frequent guest at Casa Diablo. Probably to talk business with the snake," Daniel looked at Drake. "We should head out for Blake's. We might find something". Drake recognized his grandfather's tone, strong and commanding with no room for negotiation. Still he had to try.

"No grandpa. There may still be some survivors out there. I'll handle Blake. You look out for survivors," Drake said.

"What!" Daniel roared. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Kid, this is my town. My father's town. Your father's town. It's my responsibility to..."

"No. It's my responsibility now grandpa," Drake said in an equally strong tone. "My responsibility to investigate Blake and bring justice. My responsibility to keep you safe," he lowered his tone, his eyes softened. He held out Sam's badge and gave it a long hard look. "I'm the sheriff around these parts now".

Daniel frowned and let out a sigh. He looked at Drake. "Yeah," he began, "You always did wear it right kid," he said in surrender.

Drake put his hand on his grandfather's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "I'll be alright," he said, convinced that it was what Daniel wanted to hear.

"You'd better," muttered Daniel, followed by a small smile. "So where to first?" Daniel asked.

"If Mayor Bernard has connections to Blake, I should check them out. He might have some information on what we're dealing with," Drake said.

"So it's Town Hall for you. I'll check Rajiv's clinic," Daniel announced.

"Watch your fire. We might have friendlies out there. Plus there's Wong to look out for," Drake warned.

At mention of the supposed Federal Agent's name Daniel raised his eyebrows. "Drake, about this Fed woman. You trust her?" Daniel asked.

Drake remained quiet for a moment. It was a fair question. Even Drake wasn't sure of what Wong was doing out there. But she did save his life. He owed her that much. "She's all we've got right now grandpa," Drake replied. He gave Daniel a sad look. "We don't have much of a choice," he continued. Daniel nodded as the two made their way out of the school, off on their separate ways. On the roof of the school, a young man dressed in a black Armani suit watched as the two groped in the snowstorm with a smile.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blake looked dumb-founded before the screen of his main computer console deep in the secret laborotory he had built under his mansion. Sweat trickled down his face as he furiously worked on the binary codes that flashed across the screen, inputing all the command codes he had originally set for his most covert files. "Well Wilson?" said a voice from behind him. Blake's gut tightened as he felt the eyes of Jeremiah Smythe drill into his back.

He turned to face Smythe, who sat comfortably on Blake's own command chair, his enforcer, Hammer at his side. Scarlett wandered around the lab, looking at the specimens of Blake's B.O.W experiments that lined the side of Blake's lab in large capsules with the fascination of a child rather than fear or disgust that a normal person might have felt. "There's...a...a slight problem...Mr.Smythe," Blake stuttered. He reached for his handkerchief in his pocket and wiped the sweat off his face. The cold air did little to comfort him as he came under Smythe's emerald gaze.

"Problem?" Smythe said, as he stood up. He walked to Blake, his eyes never left the other man's. He stood mere inches away from Blake. "What kind of problem?"

Blake swallowed hard. "It seems...that the codes that I had used to encrypt my files on the project...has been altered."

If Smythe was displeased, he didn't seem to show it as he looked upon the large screen of the computer console, red numbers constantly flashing across it. "Matthew's work no doubt," Smythe mused, naming the agent of Wesker that he had dealt with. "A pity we didn't know about this sooner. You are able to break his encryption, I hope?" Smythe said. Blake nodded. Smythe wasn't asking a question, he was giving him an order. "How long?"

"Maybe 2 hours or more...I'll need to retrace Samson's...I mean Matthew's steps," Blake said with uncertainty.

Just as Smythe was about to say something, Weasel waltzed into the lab, an amused look on his face. "Some news Boss," Weasel announced.

"Indeed," Smythe said with interest.

"We got two hicks walking around town. A cop and some old geezer with a shotgun. Wanted to deal with them but figured I should tell you about 'em first," Weasel reported, grinning at Blake with satisfaction.He had hopes that Smythe would tear into the pompous fat man after failing to live up to his '100' infection ratio. Instead Smythe looked at Blake with an equally amused look.

"Well Wilson, it seems you haven't lived up to your own standards. A police officer. Do you know who he is?" Smythe asked.

Blake's eyes showed both fear and confusion. He had tested the virus numerous times, working out the problems he had encountered. There was no way anyone in the town could have survived it. Not withwhen he had altered the virus with his personal touch. "Wilson?" Smythe called out to him, snapping the confounded man to his senses.

"There's only one Sheriff in town. That's Sam O'Neil. But he couldn't possibly have survived the virus. He's nearly 50...The virus should have infected him easily!" Blake exclaimed.

"50? Nah, this guy was young. He looked kinda roughed up too it," Weasel said.

Blake's eyes darted. "Hartmann's boy. Drake if I'm not mistaken. Came into town less than 6 months ago. He's O'Neil's deputy," Blake said, unsure if he was correct.

"And the old man?" Smythe pressed on.

"I'm not sure...there are hundreds of old people in this God forsaken spithole. But it doesn't make sense...no one should have survived the virus...No one!" Blake shouted.

"Calm yourself Blake," said Smythe, his eyes glistened with interest. He turned to Weasel. "Our guest?" he asked.

"Haven't found her yet. Bitch is pretty sneaky and there are plenty of cracks for her to crawl into" Weasel said with a frown. That much was certain. There were plenty of alleyways and houses 'she' could have holed herself in. Weasel's eyes were slitted as he thought of the things he was going to do to 'her' when he found her.

"I see" Smythe replied simply. Scarlett returned to Smythe's side, wordlessly as usual. Smythe remained silent in thought. The silence unnerved the other three men who stood in the lab. He glanced at Blake, "Two hours?" he asked.

"Maybe longer..." Blake admitted nervously.

"Escape routes?" Smythe said turning to Weasel.

"Left a couple of surprises," said Weasel with a smile.

Smythe took Scarlett's hand. "I saw a circus on our way her. Ms.Scarlett has never been to a circus before. I haven't been to one in nearly 60 years myself," Smythe said. "Break the code before I return, Mr.Blake. And Weasel, don't do anything to our fortunate friends. They bear some observation...if they live long enough". Smythe's eyes lightened with amusement. He took out a small radio from his coat and handed it to Blake. "Leave this in your office. I have a feeling that one of our guests will be looking for you," he said.

"But sir..." Blake began.

"Don't worry. It only has a short range. They won't be able to inform anyone of what's happening here," Smythe assured his subordinate.

"But how will you know when they'll be here?" Blake asked, his face puzzled.

"Oh, I will know," he said with a sinister tone as he looked upon Scarlett's face with a dark smile. "I will know."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A frosty hand grabbed Drake's foot as a zombie rose from the snow. Drake kicked it away, aiming his weapon at its head only to be pulled off his feet by another pair of hands, sending him crashing face first into the snow. Drake rolled to his side, pulling out his knife while the zombies crawled towards him. He slashed one of them across its face, opening a gash that sent a spray of blood across the snow. Getting to his feet, Drake finished off one of them with two shots as he attempted to retreat, running blindly into the arms of a waiting zombie.

With little effort, it held Drake up by his neck, his hands tightening around Drake's throat with such pressure that Drake started to see dark spots, dropping his gun. His eyes widened as the zombie drew him closer, its mouth open to reveal blood-stained teeth. Summoning all his strength, Drake force its head back with his right hand while he stabbed the zombie through its jugular with his combat knife, viciously twisting the blade as he kicked wildly sending both of them tumbling to the ground. Drake wrestled free of the zombie's hold, panting heavily while he searched for his dropped gun, finding it covered under a light layer of snow. Wiping the frost off the lenses of his goggles, Drake checked the clip only to find he had only three rounds left. He checked his pocket to ensure that his spare clip was still there, relieved to know it was. With a sigh, Drake rose to his feet, pressing on towards the silhouette of a large building hidden by the storm. Town Hall.

He reached the short flight of steps that sat before the familiar stone pillars that lined the front of the building. Reaching the large polished wooden doors of its entrance, Drake drew in a deep breath as he slowly opened one of them, gun at the ready. He slipped silently into the building, greeted only by darkness that engulfed the interior of the building. Drake pulled his goggles around his neck, striding carefully inot the main hall. Town Halls was only two storeys high but was extravagantly furninshed by the mayor, David Bernard, after he was appointed mayor of the town. Drake's eyes adjusted to the darkness making out the familiar teak information counter that sat in the centre of the main hall, a large Greek or Roman statue loomed a distance behind it depicting a warrior armed with a spear standing victorious over a slain lion. The first time Drake saw it months ago, he had wondered where Mayor Bernard had gotten the money for such an art piece. After his encounter with the Federal Agent, Ada Wong, he more or less had some clue as to how. Two staircases lined each side of the hall, the walls adorned with oil paintings of the town's early settlers. He climbed the stairs to his left, taking each step cautiously as he eyed the top of the steps. He reached the second floor thankfully without interference and made his way to the Mayor's office.

A locked door halted him forcing Drake to kick it open and was greeted by a cold blast of air. He raised his weapon, ready for anything, grinding his teeth against the chill while walking slowly into the room, finding a broken window with pieces of glass underneath it. A small wooden desk took up space in the left corner of the room, the secretary's desk, while a sofa sat against the right wall. Another door stood before Drake. Bernard's office. For some reason, Drake felt a chill upon touching knob of Bernard's door. He looked behind him to see nothing, returning his attention to the door with a shake off his head. Turning the knob slowly, Drake peered through a narrow crack of the door as he pulled it open. Silently, he stepped into Bernard's office to see a large work desk that sat before a wide window, the grey skies outside casting a grim light onto the barely illuminated room, a dead tree shaking violently outside the window, reminding Drake that the Razor still moved through Stonefeather, its branches tapping against the glass. A large chair sat facing the window, its back to Drake. The young sheriff took a few steps forward, his eyes darted across the room looking for any signs of movement. He twitched slightly everytime he heard the tapping of of the branches on glass while he drew closer to the chair. Drake resisted the impulse to turn the chair around and see what awaited him, but failed, his hand already holding the top left corner of the chair. Taking in a deep breath, Drake spinned the chair towards him, raising his gun. David Bernard's small frame laid slumped against the black leather of the oversized swivel chair, his head hung low, his mouth agape allowing blood to flow freely down his chin and his tongue to dangle limp on one side. His eyes were fixed in a glassy stare towards the floor, his frozen visage sending a chill down Drake's spine. Bernard's flesh hung loose on his face, the colour of his skin a pale white of a man long dead. Drake turned away from the sight momentarily, letting out a cough as he fought the fear that was enveloping his being. He holstered his weapon, turning to Bernard's desk to look for clues about Wilson Blake. Three drawers lined each side of the desk, Drake searching each one thoroughly finding nothing but unimportant memos, some reports from Fort Holden and fortunately, a box of 9mm Luger rounds and another of shotgun shells. Thinking of his grandfather, Drake stuffed the shells into his pocket as he came to the last drawer only to find it locked. "Hello," whispered Drake while he tried to force the drawer open. After several unsuccessful attempts, Drake whipped out his knife and broke the lock with a strong stab. Opening the drawer, Drake found a leather-bound book that laid above a blue file. He looked through the contents of the file first which was mainly made up of delivery manifests, transaction notes and some receipts that detailed purchased items and equipment unfamiliar to Drake. Not mining equipment, that much Drake was sure of as he read words like 'DNA splicer' and 'Cryo-Lock engine' off the list. He put away the file, turning his attention to the black leather-bound book. It was a diary or a journal, Bernard's. Drake flipped through the pages looking for any mention of Blake when he came upon an entry that caught his eye:

_19th March 2005_

_Another tunnel collapse in the mines killed two men today, Kristoff Hartmann and Bob Sharpe. Apparently the western tunnels are far more unstable than we believed, once again putting a halt to activities momentarily. I had a word with the foreman about what had happened when he told me something interesting. By accident, the tunnel collapse had opened a way into a natural cavern of sorts that leads out to Raven Creek, behind the mountain range. I asked him if it were possible to keep this natural tunnel open but was disappointed to hear that by doing so, no mining could take place in the western tunnels where there is a higher concentration of coal. The foreman also queried me on the status of the equipment he had ordered from Fort Holden some time ago to help heighten the safety measures of the mines. Unfortunately, I have Blake's demands to attend to, using the receipts and manifests for the equipment as a cover for Blake's own neccesities. I'll have to hold off the foreman a little longer._

Drake's blood boiled as he read the entry. By some strange twist of fate, his father had had become a victim of Blake's plans and Bernard's greed. Had the neccesary equipment for the mines arrived earlier, his father might have been alive today. 'But then he'd have to live through this nightmare' Drake thought. Angrily Drake continued to read through the journal when he came across something that mentioned Blake in detail:

_4th April 2005_

_Blake invited me to his grand mansion again today to celebrate his supposed success in his research. I have long admired the architecture of Blake's home but more intrigued by its exquisite interior. We discussed the matter of my final payment which is supposedly due when Blake's employer arrives to to collect his prize. I queried Blake about the nature of his research, hoping that he might show me what he had been working on. After all, I felt I had an important role in its completion, helping Blake procure the equipment he required under the guise of mining equipment as well as helping him find human subjects picked from the filth of Fort Holden. Understandably, Blake told me that it was his employer's privilage to see the fruits of his labours first, but assured me that I would soon be privy to what he had developed. I am under no illusion that Blake's experiments here are legal, hence his need for secrecy and subterfuge, but with the money that I've been paid and the amount I'm soon to receive, Blake could be developing a Doomsday device for all I care. As a token of his appreciation for my contributions, Blake gave me a key to his home, telling me that I would be welcomed in his mansion as long as I lived. I was vaguely disturbed by his choice of words but accepted the key anyway. Soon I would be rich enough to have my own mansion in a more comfortable climate, away from this sorry excuse of a town._

Upon reading about the key, Drake frantically looked through the six drawers again to make sure he had missed not missed anything. He found nothing, uneasily turning to Bernard's corpse. Mustering all his will, Drake reached his hands out towards Bernard's body slowly. His eyes were glued toBernard's downcast gave as he searched his coat, pockets and breast pockets. Nothing. Then he noticed something. Bernard's left hand, its fingers wrapped tightly around something. A heavy feeling suddenly pulled at Drake's stomach, the tapping of the branches against glass and the ominous feeling he had felt earlier did nothing to comfort him. Bernard's hand was cold upon touch, sending a shiver up Drake's arm. He pried open Bernard's fingers to find an old brass key.

Drake's heart froze when a hand grabbed his before he could take the key . Bernard's glassy stare lifted from the floor and levelled his eyes with Drake's, letting out a familiar low groan. Drake's shock became primal fear as Bernard forced him against his desk and threw him effortlessly into a nearby shelf, knocking the wind out of the lawman. Before Drake could recover Bernard was on him again growling viciously as he tried to take a bite out of the fallen sheriff. Drake rolled Bernard off and swung hard at him with a left hook, literally knocking the zombie's jaw off. He watched in horror as the loss of its lower jaw did nothing to stop Bernard charging at him again. Drake reacted by drawing his weapon, firing two well placed shotsat the zombie's chest onlybut Bernard still kept coming, forcing Drake's back against the window. Bernard climbed atop his desk, the jawless and bloodied zombie ready to pounce. Drake ducked just in time as glass shards flew threw the air, raising his head in time to see Bernard flying out the window. A sickening thud followed, asound similar to meat dropping onto concrete. Drake looked out the shattered window to see Bernard's corpse lying motionless atop the snow covered ground, the white snow soaked in crimson. The key, mere inches away.

The sound of pounding footsteps, growls and groans suddenly echoed through the building. Drake's eyes widened. The people in the Hall's shelter. Just as his thought became sour, countless of zombies burst through Bernard's door, all rushing for Drake, forcing the lawman to follow Bernard's lead, taking flight out the window. He hit the ground hard on his wounded shoulder, letting out a cry of agony as he willed himself to his feet. He frantically searched for the brass key near Bernard's corpse as zombies fell tho the ground, jumping out the window in pursuit, some of them breaking their legs upon landing forcing them to crawl after Drake. Drake grabbed the key and dashed blindly into the storm once again, the groans and hisses of zombies behind him.


	5. Act 4

Act 4: Enter the Demon

The sky was engulfed in a canopy dark clouds, the purple of dusk seeping over Stonefeather melding night with day, making Drake wonder how it long it had been since this horrid disaster happened. He trudged along the eastern road of the lake that would lead him to Casa Diablo, Blake Mansion, where he was fairly certain this nightmare originated from. His breath grew heavy as he watched for movement on the ground, wary of the deadly pattern the zombies used to attack with. He had fallen prey to these attacks a number of times, barely able to escape after each brutal attack. This time he knew how they operated, this time, he would be ready.

Not that it would help much since the Razor was making things all the more harder for the sheriff. Even with the goggles he wore, the snowstorm had proven to be an enemy itself, concealing zombies behind strong gusts of wind and snow. So now Drake was fighting two enemies, the zombies as well as the Razor who seemed to work very well together to Drake's utter dismay. Drake's thoughts were halted as he stood before a pair of opened large steel gates that informed Drake that he had arrived at his destination. Looking up, he could already make out the gargoyle-guarded rooftops of the dark mansion, their wings open in menacing poses. His eyes returned to the snow-covered path before him as he made his way cautiously to the front door. A demon-motiff door knock greeted him as he reached the large doors, its eyes locked in a vicious stare, a steel ring hung between teeth. There was no door knob in sight, only a small keyhole that sat a distance under the demon's head. Drake dug out the key he had found in Town Hall and jammed into the keyhole. He drew in some air before twisting the key, the sound of a lock opening assuring him. He pushed the door open to once again be greeted by darkness, a wide hall of Victorian taste shrouded in a veil of shadows. The first thing Drake noted was that it was much warmer in the mansion, a comfortable temperature that helped return feeling to his toes that were on the verge of frostbite. A staircase spiralled up around the hall, tempting Drake to climb but he decided to poke around on the ground floor first, gun at the ready. An initial search left Drake with nothing as he looked through Blake's grand game room and his equally extravagant dining hall which left Drake to wonder why Blake ever bothered with such things considering the fact that he never had any guests outside David Bernard. He found nothing of interest in the kitchen except a few slices of cold bread which he gobbled up to replenlish his already tested strength and found a Wine Cellar that concealed nothing, or so Drake thought. Silently, he gave the ground floor another once over before deciding to try his luck on the second floor.

As quietly as he could, Drake treaded up the teak steps, taking notice of the elaborate chandelier that hung above the hall. There were no noises in the dark, no grunts or growls of zombies nor the howls and whispers of the wind. Yet Drake could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. He came to the end of the stairs that led to a narrow hall with two doors lined on each side and one large door at the end. A red carpet paving his way, Drake strided across the hall, stopping at the first door on his right. He entered the room behind the door silently only to find a tidied room with a glass window that let in adark light, casting a grim feeling onto the sheriff. Night had fallen but the storm still raged. If Drake had to go out into the storm at this hour, he wasn't sure that he'd make it through the night. He poked around the room which Drake had assumed was a guest room but found nothing, the other two rooms bore similar results, but it was in the forth room that Drake was greeted by the sight of a ransacked bedroom. Drawers pulled out, the matress and pillows torn up with its feathers littering the floor along with pieces of shattered glass and sheets of paper. Someone was in a mood, or maybe someone was looking for something. Drake's trained eye found a sheet of paper torn into half near the farside of the ruined bed. In the darkness, he could barely make out the writing on the papers

_To Matthew Dressard,_

_The report you sent me was pleasing. The completion of Blake's project means that Smythe will be pulling his head out of the sand soon. However I am disappointed that you did not detail the nature of the virus or its infection ratio. Needless to say, I expect you to have the required information and if possible samples of the virus ready for my operative to collect them. In the meantime, you are to stay undercover in Smythe's organization. My operative is tracing your steps now so keep yourself alive till then._

_Albert Wesker_

'A spy' Drake guessed as he dropped the papers to the floor. 'A discovered spy at that'. Drake made a mental note of the name Albert Wesker as well as this Smythe. If he had the chance, he'd ask Ada about them since it was likely she had some background on them. Drake thought about the 'virus' mentioned in the note. He recalled Ada mentioning that Blake was a gun runner but never said anything about him making a virus. "Feds," muttered Drake. Always concerned with their skeletons in the closet. He searched the room a little more before moving on, facing the teak doors of last room. He let out a sigh. It was too familiar a scene having watched numerous horror movies. Despite his grievances, Drake's hand was already on the doorknob. After what seemed like an eternity, Drake turned the knob and entered the room. Silence surrounded the room with the exception of the crackles of burning firewood, the orange hue of the flames barely illuminating its surroundings. Drake's eyes adjusted themselves to the dimly lit room and began looking around for clues. He found several folders on a large executive desk, their contents detailing materials and names Drake could not comprehend but words like "Bio-Weapon" and "Virus" assured him that he had found something. Still Drake was concerned. He hadn't found a trace of Blake and was certain that he had checked all the rooms except the attic though he had doubts that Blake would be holed up in there. A faint buzzing sound caught Drake's attention. A familiar sound. The sound of radio static. He returned his attention to the desk, files and sheets of paper piled up on it.Pushing off all the items on the table Drake found it: A radio.With nearly childlike excitement Drake fumbled with the radio,finding a frequency. "Mayday mayday!" he called into the device. "Mayday mayday this is Sheriff Drake Hartmann Stonefeather Lake. We require assistance," he said. Static. He tried another frequency, "Mayday mayday, this is Stonefeather Lake. Can anyone hear me!" Drake yelled with desperation in his voice. More static. Drake tossed the radio to the ground in surrender. He was so sure he had found a way to call for help. He rubbed his temples as he contemplated his next move.

"I hear you Sheriff Hartmann," said a voice,smooth as silk. Drake raised his head and looked at the radio.

Uneasily he picked it up. "This is Sheriff Drake Hartmann of Stonefeather Lake. We require assistance. The town's been contaminated by a virus and..."

"I'm well aware of the situation Sheriff," said the voice again.

Drake raised an eyebrow. "Who is this?" he said, almost whispering.

"Ah, well that would be telling. But if you must know, come down to the Russian circus at the edge of town. I am eager to meet you," the voice said again. Drake detected an English accent in the voice, a foreigner?

"Listen you sick sonuvabitch, I'm in no mood for games. Tell me who the hell are you!" Drake yelled.

"Good things come to those who wait Sheriff," replied the voice. Drake frowned and threw the radio into a wall, breaking the device in bits. He drew in a breath and considered his options. Freeze to death out in the storm or get eaten by zombies. Or he could just stay in the mansion.The last option was of course the most logical one, but something was pushing the young Sheriff. Something strong. He wasn't sure whether it was anger or sheer curiousity, but he had to go the circus.

"I can't believe this," Drake said aloud as he began making his way out of the room. 'Believe it' he thought as he stood out on the porch of Blake's Mansion. 'I'm going to the circus' he thought, running into the frosty plains making his way to the edge of town.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ada Wong carefully examined the shattered pieces of a radio, laid on a carpeted floor against a wall. She stood up with a sigh and eased herself into Blake's chair. Hartmann had been here earlier, it was likely that they had missed each other by mere minutes but it didn't matter to Ada, she worked better alone anyway. It was likely that the young lawman found nothing as Ada herself could not find anything as she searched the house thoroughly. Her contact, Matthew Dressard was gone, possibly dead from the way his room appeared. And Blake was nowhere in sight. Or so it seemed. She'd been in such situations before to know better than to jump to conclusions. There was something about the Wine Cellar that she had been in earlier. Something odd that she couldn't put her finger on.

A beeping sound from her communicator interrupted her thoughts. With a frown, Ada dug out the PDA like device and composed herself. Wesker's face appeared on the screen of the device, the static worse than before."Report," was all that Wesker uttered, a buzzing sound layered his voice.

"Situation's changed drastically. Dressard's gone. More likely he's been rooted out and killed," Ada said deadpan.

"Unfortunate, but it changes nothing. Your objective is to retrieve any sensitive data on Blake's creation as well as a prototype or a sample. Dressard's plight is but a minor setback I'm inclined to accept but failure is not," Wesker said, slight agitation in his usually emotionless voice.

"I see. Well then I suppose I'll have to try harder then," Ada sneered, a tight smile across her face.

"I suppose you do," Wesker said as he leaned forward to make his point. "Anything else to report? Our time grows short. Our satellites can't relay what's going on in your area for long. The storm seems to be growing," Wesker informed his operative.

"I have two survivors on my hands," Ada reported. "One Drake Hartmann and his grandfather."

At the news of these survivors, Wesker rubbed his chin with interest. "Hmm...Curious. I'll run a background check on this Hartmann fellow. Is he giving you any problems?" Wesker asked.

Ada eyed the remains of the shattered radio. "As of yet, none. He thinks I'm on his side, for now at least. He could be of some use," Ada explained.

Wesker grinned. "You always were good at using your assets to manipulate others Wong," Wesker said with some amusement. Ada's eyes became slits at the reference. "Very well then. Our window of opportunity is shrinking quickly Wong. Do what you have to and get me what I want. Whatever it takes," Wesker said at last. Ada nodded in acceptance as the screen turned black to signal that the converstion was over.

"Bastard," whispered Ada finally. It was no secret that whatever Wesker was planning, it wasn't for the greater glory of Umbrella. Nor was it simply about him rising in power. Her own contacts had confirmed that Wesker was working for another company know only a "S". It was likely that "S" had genetically enhanced him when he was believed killed after the Arklay Mountains incident. Like William Birkin, Wesker was proving to be a master of playing both sides of the fence. Whatever he was planning, Ada had no doubt that neither Umbrella or "S" would benefit from Wesker's plans once they came into fruition.

Ada jammed the communicator into one of her pockets as she headed down into the Mansion's Wine Cellar to check out her hunch. Large wine racks surrounded her from three sides in the large room but it was the one in front of her that raised her suspicions. She pulled out a bottle from one of the many diamond-shaped openings of the rack and gave it's label a casual glance. Château Léoville-Barton 1855. "Good year," Ada whispered to no one in particular as she returned the bottle to its original place. She pulled out another bottle which made her frown. Malaga. That was a Spanish wine. 'Why would any wine collector mix up Spanish and French wines in the samerack when there's enough room to seperate them' she thought. She pulled out another wine. Spanish. And another,German. 'Either Blake has no respect for Wine Collecting...or...' Ada thought, taking a step back. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could make out small Roman numerals carved under the small openings of the racks. She'd missed something.

Ada headed back upstairs and searched Blake's office. A conspicuous book wedged between two large tomes caught her eye, aptly titled 'Fine Wine Companion'. Upon opening the book Ada noticed a dog-earred page that caught her attention.

_In Amsterdam 1985, esteemed Wine connoisseur Roman Petrakovich made a revolutionary change in the world of wine tasting.He commented that wine tasting was concentrating too much on French and American wines, namely those from California. Feeling that other wines were not getting the recognition they deserved, Petrakovich, along with several fellow tasters agreed to hold an unofficial wine tasting competiton in a small Dutch bistro in the heart of Amsterdam. Though the contest was frowned upon by numerous prestigious connoisseurs, many wine makers, especially those from less recognized wine countries like Spain were more than happy to have their wines tasted by Petrakovich and company. Word of Petrakovich's impromptu challenge spread throughout the wine world, prompting wine makers from Germany, France and Australia to attend. Not since the Paris Wine Tasting of 1976 had there been such a turn-up for so small a competiton. _

_After being blindfolded, the judges sampled the wines that had entered the competition. Their results were shocking but well accepted. Petrakovich commented that the Château Léoville-Barton lived up to its reputation with a slight fruity taste that he felt was absent in many wines today. The German Auslese stunned the crowd by coming in second to the suprise of even the judges. Judge Amy Stanson said that she had never expected a German wine have such an impact. The Spaniards had their day as well, the distinctively Spanish Malaga with its flavorful spice impressing the judges while Chambolle-Musigny reminded the judges why French wines are celebrated in the world. Though the results were unrecognized by most of the Wine World as well as the media, many conoisseurs regard the results of the competition to be the most accurate and unbiased judgements since the infamous Paris Wine Tasting of 1976._

Ada smiled. Blake was probably too lazy to think of a code of his ownso he tried to memorize a sequence or a code that only a wine collector would have understood. Heading back into the Cellar, she pulled out all the bottles and arranged them in the order written. The Barton 1855 went to first opening, an Auslese 1736 went to the second, one of Ada's favourites, a Malaga 1919 was the third and the fourth was Chambolle-Musigny 1847. Upon placing the last bottle in place, the rack came to life as it slowly slid apart from the centre, revealing a cold steel door. Stepping forward, Ada noted an electronic lock at the side, a narrow slit sat under a control panel. Ada's slender finger traced the slit. It needed a keycard of sorts. With a sigh, Ada took a step back to look at the door once again. She was tempted to simply blow it up but she couldn't risk alerting anyone of her presence. 'Maybe Hartmann might find something' she thought as she grabbed a bottle from a nearby rack, a Château Pedesclaux. Uncharacteristically, Ada bit into the cork and yanked it out . She took a swing of the drink and looked at it with disdain. 1810. "Lousy year," she said as she took another gulp of it, making her way out of the cellar.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I don't believe this," the words escaped Drake's lips as he stared at the sight before him. Circus truck trailers were stacked atop one another to form an odd but effective barrier between himself and the only road that led out of Stonefeather. Along with cars and pieces of rubble that could have been caused by the harsh winds of the storm. Either fate was playing a very cruel joke on him or someone was doing their best to keep any survivors within the town. The destroyed radio relay that Drake's grandfather talked about came to mind. Impossible was a word that constantly ran through Drake's mind but after everything he had seen so far he should have known better than to expect things to get better. A low sigh escaped his throat as he turned to the shadowed Big Top. He whipped out his gun and changed to a fresh clip. "Let's get this over with," he whispered grimly as helifted a flap of the Big Top's heavy canvas.

Entering the structure, Drake could still hear the flapping sounds of wind against canvas. The pitch-black darkness about him did nothing to comfort him as he worried whether the Razor would simply bring the whole giant tent down on his head.The hairs on the back of his neck stood on its ends as Drake navigated blindly in the dark, finally bumping into a box or a pedestal of sorts. He focused his eyes on the object, making it out as one of the pedestals animal-tamers would have their performing animals sit on. He was in the ring, that much he guessed.A blinding light came down from the heavens nearly blinding Drake, forcing him to shield his eyes with his left arm. He squinted his eyes, noticing that a beam of bright white light focused solely on where he stood. 'A spotlight' thought Drake. Another light came to life a distance to his left towards the elevated seats that surrounded the ring. His eyes still stinging from the sudden light Drake could see two figures sitting atop one of the benches near the ring.

"Sheriff Drake Hartmann, I presume," came a familiar voice, an English accent, his tone smooth as silk. Then Drake saw him. His hair was a glistening silver, combed back in a smooth businessman-like fashion. His bore strong features: high cheekbones, a sharp nose and small narrow eyes along with thin silver eyebrows that lent a strange menacing appearance to his cold, yet flaming green eyes. Dressed immaculately in a well-tailored black overcoat with regal bearing , Drake could have imagined this man walking straight out of a Victorian-age painting. Drake grinded his teeth as he stared at the stranger.His grip tightened around his weapon as he stood poised for attack. "So nice to finally put a face to the name. And quite a face it is eh Miss Scarlett?" said the stranger again, glancing to his left to speak to the other person. Drake's eyes widened as he finally noticed her. She couldn't have been older than 16 with placid yet attractive facial features, short neck length blonde hair and warm blue eyes that seemed to melt into Drake's mind. Like her companion, she was dressed elegantly in a thick feminine fur coat cut stylishly to bare her small shoulders in a deep red to accentuate the heathly colour of her flawless skin. She gave Drake a cool look before turning to the man with a slight nod.

"Who the Hell are you?" Drake yelled with anger.

The stranger shook his head. "Where are my manners?" he said with genuine remorse. "My lovely companion is Miss Scarlett," he intoduced the young girl. "And I am Jeremiah Smythe, or Smythe if you'd prefer," he said casually. His emerald gaze sent a chill down Drake's spine.

"Are you the one who's behind this...nightmare?" Drake demanded.

Smythe shrugged slightly. "Well I can't take all the credit. However I suppose I can lay claim to setting things into motion," he replied calmly with an indifferent expression on his face.

Drake grinded his teeth as he stared hard at Smythe. "How can you be so smug about this?" he growled.

A slight grin crept across Smythe's face. "Well Sheriff Hartmann, in accordance to the laws of the theatre...I am the bad guy," he said in a soft yet mocking tone.

Instantly Drake raised his weapon pointing it straight at Smythe's head only to stop himself when the girl called Scarlett stood before his intended target, an angered look upon her face. He eased his finger off the triggered. "Get out of the way!" he yelled but the girl would not budge. A gentle hand on her shoulder assured Scarlett that all was right.

"You'll have to excuse Scarlett. She is a little protective of me," Smythe explained as he took her hand. "After all, I'm probably all the family she has. Now, before we proceed into the usual theatrics, may I ask you one question Sheriff Hartmann?"

Drake raised an eyebrow but remained silent, the heat of the light actually forcing sweat to roll down his face.

"Are you fond of clowns?" Smythe asked. Scarlett's eyes glowed a bright blue on cue as the lights that were focused on Drake and Smythe started moving around the Big Top, a strange mix of circus music suddenly filled the air. The noise and the absence of light made Drake lose sight of Smythe and Scarlett but a low moan captured his attention. The lights still roamed around the Big Top but Drake could already catch glimpses of zombies dressed gaudily rising to their feet.He rushed tothe entrance of the Big Top only to find it blocked by a trailer, 'Wha...that wasn't there earlier!' his mind screamed. Frantically, Drake looked around to see more zombies approaching him, their faces half-painted with chalky white make-up and thie lips crimson with lipstick and blood. Zombie clowns. Drake could here Sam's word's echo in the back of his mind: _'God I hate clowns'_. Drake fired at brief sights of zombies approaching him, the spotlights flew all about the Big Top confusing him while the eerie theme of Thunder and Blazes played along side the sounds of horns and whistles, disorienting his bearings as he swept around looking for a way out. His heart pounded like a war drum as a pastry faced zombie clown crept out behind him, forcing Drake to slash at it with his combat knife. Another managed tograb his foot only to have its head stomped in by Drake's foot. He blasted at two or three of them as he backed away towards a long pole with a ladder. The deadman's click from his weapon froze Drake's blood as he instinctively climbed the ladder to escape the numerous zombies that tried to take a bite out of him staring up at the dark ceiling of the Big Top. A cold hand clutched his foot as a zombie climbed up after him, Drake responding with a thunderous kick to its face, sending it crashing into a group of the bloodthirsty creatures. He reached the top platform of the pole and could make out a body hanging dead on a swing attached to the ceiling. A dead trapeze artist dropped from its perch falling from a great distant, a sickening splatter echoed as the body hit the ground. Drake grimaced as he saw a huge lake of blood peering over the edge of the platform. More groans and grunts could be heard from below as zombies climbed up the pole from behind Drake. A distance before him, Drake could already make out another pole with a platform but already several zombies stood, groaning as they waited.

His eyes darted to his feet where he saw a rope tied to a steel ring of the platform. A tightrope. "Not one of my better ideas," muttered Drake as he grabbed on to the rope and cut it loose with his knife sending him swinging from a height. Drake yelled as his feet slammed against the other pole to stop his descent, the impact nearly turning his legs into gelatin as he released his grip on the rope, dropping to the ground with a thud. A zombie jumped on him as he struggled to his feet, wrestling him to the ground, then another, and another. Knife in one hand, empty gun in the other, Drake punched and kicked his way free, breakings jaws and ribs of his attackers with well placed kicks and clubbings. Bite marks adorned his arms as he limped his way towards the farside exit, more zombies in pursuit. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another clip, reloading his weapon. He turned and fired away at his attackers, one by one they fell, blood and bones punching out through their bodies as hot lead tore through their flesh. One of them seemed unfazed by the bullets, blood trickling from its lips as Drake punched another four slugs through it but it kept on coming towards him , poised for attack. It lunged at the lawmen, bloodstained teeth bared as it prepared to sink them into Drake's flesh only to have the barrel of Drake's .40 Berreta thrusted under its jaw. A thunderous gunshot sent blood, brain and bone splattering onto Drake's face as he pushed the corpse away, spitting out blood that had somehow seeped into his own mouth. He scanned the darkness to see if more zombies were around. Nothing. He'd killed them all. Drake's legs failed him as he fell to the ground, breathing hard as he laid on his back. "Jeremiah Smythe," he whispered, before letting his exhaustion overtake him...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scarlett and Smythe strode out the Big Top with the sound of Thunder and Blazes to mark their departure. Hammer had done well in coordinating Smythe's little lightshow. Though he often reminded himself not to get carried away, Smythe had a flair for the dramatic. Smythe's thoughts went back to Sheriff Hartmann. He wondered if the young man had survived the ordeal. 'Well if he did, then it would make for quite an interesting scenario' Smythe mused. As they passed a large steel cage, a humongous creature leaped out from the darkness smashing itself against the cold steel bars. The sight startled Scarlett as she backed away from the beastial scowl of the animal, not realizing that she had dropped one of Blake's keycards that Smythe had allowed her to hold onto. Smythe's eyes widened with interest as he approached the cage, the snout of the bear mere inches away from his face, it's warm putrid breath rolling onto his face. He locked eyes with the beast, icy green against it fiery brown. Drool dripped from its mouth as it bared its fangs in anger, a low growl expressing its vicious desires. Scarlett hid behind Smythe, taking peeks at the bear like it were a demonic beast. "What a magnificent creature," Smythe proclaimed as he drew closer to the cage, agitating the Kodiak even more. " One of nature's purest, most efficient killing machines," he continued as he reached his arm into the cage. Scarlett's eyes widened in fear. The Kodiak roared as its head came down to chew off Smythe's arm, only to have a strong, strangling hold around its neck as Smythe drew its head closer to his face. "But like all things...there's still room for improvement...


	6. Act 5

Act 5:Wrath

Blood trickled down his arms as Drake treaded slowly exiting the Big Top, his legs weakened by constant running and the fall he had taken in his last fight. He felt light-headed as he swayed from side to side, his face covered in a crimson mask of blood, the warm smoke of his breathing escaped his mouth. No thoughts raced through his mind, no ideas or memories. He was a blank, leaning against a nearby trailer to regain his strength only to slide down to the ground. He shut his eyes in hopes that once he opened them again, it would all be over, that the nightmare would end. Then he saw it, the cold-burning emerald gaze of the demon. Drake's eyes burst open as he drew in a deep breath. "Jeremiah Smythe," he whispered. Wiping blood off his face, Drake grimaced as he rose to his feet._' In accordance to the laws of the theatre...I am the bad guy'._ Smythe's words echoed in Drake's mind forcing a tight expression across his face. Now he knew just what kind of person he was dealing with. But things didn't seem to add up. 'What does Smythe have to do with Blake?' wondered Drake, walking back towards the town. A chilling wind blew across his face, the storm was growing in strength. Grinding his teeth against the cold, Drake saw something in the corner of his eye. Eyes wide, Drake stared at the sight of what was once a steel cage, its bars ripped to shreds. He noted small pools of blood mixed with strands of black fur. His eyes widened at the realisation of what the cage once held. He looked around uneasily, fearing that the Kodiak was somewhere around. "Great," he muttered. "Smokey's loose," he said grimly as he placed his goggles over his eyes. Turning his attention from the cage Drake noted an object lying on the ground, a thin layer of snow atop it. He bent on one knee, reaching out to it. 'A card?' wondered Drake brushing snow off the object. It was the size of a typical identification card, lacking any patterns, numbers or information of any sorts save for a strange insignia. A polygon of sorts with red and white stripes. Drake had a hunch that it had something to do with Smythe or Blake. Pocketing the card, Drake began his return trip to Casa Diablo.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daniel Hartmann held his shotgun tightly as the snow blew into his face, his beard feeling frozen against the numbing breeze as the Razor tore through what was left of Stonefeather. He had returned from checking Dr.Rajiv's clinic finding nothing but dead bodies and zombies. His favorite brown fur jacket was covered in their blood as they rushed him, shotgun blasts ripping them apart as they advanced towards him disregarding his weapon. Drake was out there somewhere on his own, looking to find out what had caused this disaster along with this Ada Wong character that Drake had told him about. Daniel frowned at the thought of the mysterious Ada Wong. He wasn't fond of wild cards and the supposed Federal Agent was definitely one he wouldn't bank on. Now he was out on the desolate Stonefeather streets, knee deep in snow while the winds blew more across thetown. "Look for survivors he said," mumbled Daniel to no one, thinking about his grandson. He had checked nearly all the houses of his neighbours only to find either chewed-up corpses or zombies, people he had known for years and had toiled with together in the mines. He wondered why he was spared their fate only tolive through an unfathomable nightmare. Memories of Kasserine Pass rushed through his mind, the sound of panzer fire and the chorus of death screams brought a shiverdown Daniel's spine. He thought he was done with the killing. Apparently he was wrong. A groan from behind him caused Daniel to snap out of his tangent, swinging his weapon around as he watched in horror as four or five zombies forced their way out of the snow.

"Here we go," whispered Daniel as he leveled his weapon at the first zombie that headed his way. Thunder resounded through the once-empty streets as blood and bone splattered against the white snow, the first zombie collapsing to its knees as a clean hole appeared through its chest. Daniel backed off, the other zombies running towards him with bloodied screeches and growls. He fired his shotgun again, blowing off an arm of an attacking zombie before smashing the butt of his weapon into the side of its head. Aware that he had little ammunition left, Daniel switched to close combat, handling his shotgun as an effective clubbing weapon. A devastating swing of the weapon ripped off another zombie's already loosened face but the deadman still kept coming forcing Daniel to ram the shotgun butt into its abdomen sending it crashing to the ground. The sight of more zombies heading his way tightened the already unbearable feeling in his gut. A zombie jumped out from the snow behind him with a monstrous howl, knocking Hartmann to the ground. Daniel punched the zombie in the face but to no avail as it lowered its head with ill intentions. 'Not here!' Daniel thought as he struggled to push his attacker off, every muscle in his body burning while he fought the zombie off. 'Not like this!' his mind screamed as memories of Kristoff, Kent and Drake flowed through his mind. Smashing the end of his palm under the zombie's chin the zombie released its death grip allowing Daniel to grab his shotgun and unload a shot into its head. He spun his head around to see more zombies heading towards him, panting heavily as his fingeres tightened around his weapon.

A large figure loomed behind the approaching zombies, a shadow hidden by snowfall and strong winds. Daniel squinted his eyes to make out what was coming, his heart skipping a beat as a feral roar, louder than anything he had heard before echoed throughout the streets. As though on cue, more snow blew into Daniel's face forcing him to shield his eyes with his arm, the howls of the wind nearly filtering out the sounds of limbs being torn apart and the groans of zombies. Nearly. He bent down on his knees as theblast of wind passed over, covering him in a thin layer of frost and snow. He rose to his feet, focusing his eyes to see nothing. 'What? Where'd the hell they go?' Daniel wondered. Clenching his teeth, Daniel trudged forward towards where he had sen the zombies. He looked around, seeing nothing except snow till he noticed the twitching of a dismembered arm. Daniel's eyes widened in shock as he saw what laid before him. The bodies of his attackers, mauled beyond recognition, their limbs scattered across the snow like discarded toys. Daniel forced a gulp down his dry throat. He caught the sight of a large shadow going around a corner and followed it only to stand before another desolate street. 'What was that?' Daniel wondered. No footprints could be seen, snowfall covering them as quickly as when they were made. Still even without the footprints Daniel knew whatever tore through those zombies had to be huge...and dangerous. And Drake was still out there. Daniel steeled himself as he loaded up his last four shotgun shells into his weapon before pressing on, feeling more determined than he ever had.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here we go," muttered Drake, pointing his weapon at an attacking zombie. He fired two shots at what was once a woman but was now a shallow corpse, the first shot nailing it in the chest while the second grazed its neck as it stumbled forward. In the corner of his eye Drake could already see more zombies heading his way. 'Got no time for this' thought Drake loading his last clip into his .40, 'Or ammo. Need to get back to Blake's'. Drake rushed against the zombies, their slow movements unable to keep up with the lone lawman until a set of hands popped out of the snow to ensare him. 'Not again!' Drake fumed as he blasted blindly into the snow beneath him till it was stained in the crimson of blood. Freeing himself, the other zombies had already encircled him like carrion to a carcass, Drake able to make out their shadows behind the snowfall. Reaching into his pocket, Drake pulled out Ada's grenade, his finger already wrapped around the ring. A zombie pounced at him through the snow, forcing Drake to drop the explosive and whipped out his knife, slashing away at the zombie. Steel tore through flesh as the blade went clean across the zombie's chest followed by a tremendous kick to the gut. Grabbing the fallen grenade, Drake ran against the wind, slashing blindly at shadows, grunts and moans, feeling the blade cut through meat as he fought his way out of the zombies' death trap. After nearly twenty minutes of solid running, Drake slowed to a stop as the familiar gates of Blake Mansion came into view. Holding his knees while panting heavily, Drake looked up at the building with anger and disdain. The first time he was here, his search bore no fruit and was led into a trap by the mysterious Smythe. Who was to say that this time would be any different? Drake pulled out the plain card from his bloodied shirt's pocket and gave it a hard look. Wordlessly he headed for the mansion, unable to shake an uneasy feeling that seized him.

Upon reaching the front door, Drake knew something was wrong. The door was open. Usually small things like that went unnoticed especially under the present circumstances but after years of Police work including some SWAT training, Drake could already tell that something was different. Opening the door ever so slightly, Drake slipped into the main hall, weapon at the ready. Looking to the floor he noted footprints made by boots, snow melted on the floor leaving a trail that led him to the wine cellar. Drake frowned as he looked down the staircase that led to the cold and dark room. He had checked it the first time he was here and found nothing. Suspecting a trap, Drake hesitated. 'What now Hartmann?' he asked himself. With a sigh, he decided his next move, taking his first step down into the basement while the adage 'who dares wins' played in his mind. To his surprise, the wine cellar looked much different than before. Where once stood a wine rack now revealed a blue steel door. "Where'd that come from?" he wondered aloud, placing a cautious hand on the door. He noted the digital control panel to his right adorned with buttons and a vertical narrow slit. An inkling occured to him. He whipped out the card he had found in the circus and glanced at the control panel. Raising an eyebrow, he slowly inserted the card into the opening unsure of what to expect. A beeping sound alarmed him as the steel door slid open to reveal a narrow pathway, with steel pipes and tubes running along each side. The mysterious path was dimly lit making Drake wary of entering. "Nothing wagered, nothing gained," mumbled Drake, setting foot atop the metal grailing that paved his path. The sound of boots on steel echoed throughout the path as Drake tried his best to lighten his footsteps. His eyes were slightly irritated by the dim lighting of the tunnel, his eyes becoming far more accustomed to the darkness, the hisses of gas escaping the pipes putting him on edge. The path led to another door, similar to the one he encountered earlier. Only difference was he could see no openings for a keycard or anything else. Stepping forward, the door slid open automatically revealing a wider lighted hallway. The grip around his gun tightened, cold sweat rolling down his face. Drake stepped forward into the light, his eyes widened at the sight he looked upon.

Drake's gaze swept throughout the place where he stood, a sterile smell thick in the hallway similar to the smell of a hospital or a clinic made its way up his nostrils. The smell fit its surroundings, a large steely hall with two storeys, a rectangular grail catwalk aligned the walls leading to several other pathways. Drake could already make out four rooms on the floor he was on while a steel staircase awaited him in the centre of the room. Raising his eyebrow, Drake lowered his weapon, more or less certain that there was no danger present, for the time being. He strode towards the first room on his right, the automated door sliding open with a slight hiss. Venturing into the room, Drake's eyes focused on a row of four large tube-like devices lined against the end of the room. They emitted a blue hue, holding strange deformed creatures in a vicous liquid of sorts. "What the Hell are these?" whispered Drake, putting a hand on the surface of the tubes. Like pieces of floating flesh, they reminded Drake of stillborn babies floating in a womb. Or cocoons that held something. A twitch from one of the creatures forced Drake to pull his hand back cautiously. Sniffing, Drake looked around the room a little more before leaving, the blue glow of the tubes following him as he left the room. He found nothing of much value in the other rooms, mostly notes and files detailing things that Drake could not comprehend. Drake felt relief when he came across a box of 9 mm Luger rounds and a container of painkillers. He staved off the urge to take them, he needed to be alert while he was in enemy territory, but then again, the whole town had become enemy territory. He headed for the second floor, reloading his near empty weapon with a fresh clip while he pocketed the empty one for use later. Following the metal path, Drake headed towards a corridor where he could see flashes of red light. His curiosity got the better of him, urging Drake to check it out. Silently, Drake strode towards the source of the corridor which led to an open room where a large computer sat at its end, its screen flashing angry red as numbers ran across it. Walking into the room, Drake noticed more of the large glass tubes lined in rows at both sides of the room. Some were empty, other contained strange-looking items made of flesh, different to the ones Drake had seen earlier. Keeping his focus on the computer, Drake looked furiously for a communication system of sorts but the large control panel that sat before the screen was alien to Drake as his fingers hovered over its buttons. With a sigh, Drake pounded his fist onto the console with frustration.

"Easy on the merchandise Sheriff," said a voice from behind him.

Drake turned to see Ada Wong standing behind him calmly observing him. "Wong!" Drake exclaimed, happy to see her. "How'd you get here?" he asked suddenly.

"Noticed a big door in the cellar. Figured it lead me to Blake. Looks like you beat me to it," Ada said, walking up to the computer.

Drake shrugged. "I haven't found Blake yet. Look we've got to talk. I just came from the circus and-"

"What were you doing at the circus?" Ada asked skeptically, cutting Drake off.

"Some guy, an English guy named Smythe. Jeremiah Smythe. Called me on this fixed radio and told me to meet him over at the circus. He set me up. Was barely able to make it out of there," Drake explained.

Ada frowned. "This Smythe, what did he look like?"

"I don't know. Guy in his early forties, mid-forties or something. Silver hair, green eyes, British accent...the works," Drake said as he tried to remember how Smythe looked like. "He said he was the brains behind what's going on here. Said something about 'setting things in motion' or something like that. Whoever he is, he's been walking around town with the Razor and the zombies out there," Drake told her, looking at the screen before him. "I don't think it's Blake we're supposed to go after."

Ada gave Drake a calm look before turning to the screen. "First things first Sheriff. Since we're here, we might as well take a look at what Blake was working on," she turned to Drake who predictably looked frustrated, "Evidence," she assured him.

Drake remained silent as Ada signalled for him to move away from the console. He watched as she began punching keys and buttons, the screen reacting to her commands with ease. "Any chance we can call for outside help through this thing?" asked Drake, eyeing the screen.

"Maybe," Ada said without looking back. "Though I doubt it would do us any good. You saw how bad the storm is out there. I doubt we could get a signal through that much interference."

Drake frowned. "But you'll try right?"

Ada glanced at Drake momentarily. He had proven his use already by finding the keycard to the door, allowing her to follow his trail. He was getting restless, angry. She could see the signs and hear the frustration that edged his voice. "I will," she began in the sweetest voice she could muster, "But it's going to take some time. Why don't you check around this place a little more. Maybe Blake left a few clues or something we could use," she continued, returning her gaze to the screen. 'That will give me enough time to break Dressard's damned code without interruption' she thought silently.

Drake looked away. "Fine."

Drake stormed off, leaving Ada alone with the computer. Feeling certain that Drake was gone, Ada wiped out her communicator/PDA. Finding a connection point, Ada hooked up the device to the computer and ran a decryption programme on the files she required. Dressard had probably realized that his cover was in danger of being blown and had made his own contingencies if ever that occured. She checked the run time of her programme and raised her eyebrows. About 20 minutes. More than enough time to get out with the information she required. She thought of Drake. He was asking too many questions and Ada was unsure whether to simply kill him or to continue stringing him along with her lies. Ada gave it a long thought.

Still fuming from Wong's cold attitude towards him, Drake treaded towards another pathway aimlessly. Typical Fed behaviour, disregarding the concerns of the local authorities to forwards their own careers. Drake had met many of the same sort throughout his stint as a Cameron City cop. Usually such things would never have bothered Drake but the pressure was starting to build up inside him. Between the threat of frostbite and being eaten alive by zombies, the last thing he needed was attitude from a Fed he wasn't sure of to begin with. Drake stopped in his tracks as something caught his eye. The floor before him was stained with a long trail of blood. Someone or something had been dragged across the floor. He thought of calling Wong for help but decided against it, whipping out his gun. He followed the blood trail further into the corridor where the lights were dim and found himself face to face with a steel door, a small round glass window revealing nothing to Drake as he peered into it. He reached for the handle, uncertain if he was doing the right thing. The handle's steel was cold to Drake's flesh, like an omen of things to come. He ignored the tightness in his gut and pushed the handle down, unlocking the door. Pushing it open, Drake winced as its hinges gave off a sharp creak as he set foot into the mysterious chamber. It was a round room of considerably height reminding Drake of the interior of a hollow lighthouse. It was dark which came to no surprise to the young lawman, the darkness being all to familiar to him since the nightmare began. A silhouette of a person sprawled atop the floor forced Drake to move forward, his heart thumping with every step. Rather than bend down on his knees to check for a pulse, Drake uncharacteristically gave the body a light kick to get a reaction out of it. He'd been in too many close shaves with the zombies, he wasn't taking any chances. The kick met with no response. Drake kicked it again just to make sure that the body was lifeless before lowering himself to examine it more closely. He turned the body around to see a bony-faced man, his eye sockets empty as his face was locked in agony. Drake noted five strange impressions on the dead man's face, each a hole from where blood flowed unchallenged. Drake turned away from the bloodied sight. A thought ran through his mind. Was this the Matthew Dressard he had read about earlier? Dressed in a simple suit with white gloves and polished black shoes, the corpse could easily have been that of a butler's. "Looks like they got you after all Matt. Whoever 'they' are," Drake whispered as he rose to his feet. Wong needed to be informed about what he had found.

Turning to the door, Drake's eyes widened when he heard a deafening bang. His jaw dropped open when he found the door sealed shut, his hands furiously searching for a handle or a knob, trying his best to pry it open. "Come on," he grumbled. An ominous feeling gripped at Drake as he heard a noise from behind him. He shut his eyes and pulled out his gun. He spun around, gun pointed into the darkness to see the corpse on its feet, silent and unmoving, tears of blood rolling out of his empty sockets. Drake winced at the sight as he considered shooting it, but the zombie made no move, no sound. His finger trembled off the trigger as cold sweat rolled down his face. What now? The corpse took its first step towards Drake prompting the sheriff to back away, gun still trained at zombie. He squinted his eyes as movement of a different sort caught his attention. The zombie's arms appeared to be throbbing, like something struggling to break out, a ripple running up from under its skin. Flesh burst open with a spray of blood as the zombie's right arm seemingly shed its skin, revealing a long mangled blackened arm where flesh and bone were united in a horrendous manner, bone over flesh, flesh over bone, all the way to its hand that had become a monstrous claw of sorts, five organic blades as large as machetes. The claws smashed against the floor digging five clean impressions into it. The zombie's mouth was open as it seemed to let out a deafening scream that echoed throughout the round chamber as its other arm burst open into a mangled weapon of blackened flesh and bone. Its eyes once empty were now were filled with crimson lights that stared at Drake with malicious intent.

A blood-curdled roar followed by a quick movement of its left arm sent Drake flying towards the right side of the chamber , three large gashes on his right arm bleeding badly. The creature swung its arm again, forcing Drake to roll out of its way while nursing his injured arm watching in horror as the claws dug into the curved wall mere inches from him. Retaliating, Drake fired three well placed shots as he ran behind it while the creature worked to free its arm . The shots nailed the zombie in its back, and both it shoulders but to little effect. Drake ducked in time as the creature's other arm swung towards him, slicing the air at lightning speed. The zombie managed to free itself, its elongated arms returning to its side while it turned to face Drake. The Sheriff grinded his teeth as he came face to face with his demonic nemesis, his fingers tightening around the grip of his firearm. The creature swung again, this time with both arms from both sides in a scissors-like manner forcing Drake to dive to the ground to avoid them. Upon hitting the floor Drake fired again, another two shots nailing the mutated zombie in the face and the other in the chest. Dressard's corpse staggered backwards as the shots made an impact. Rushing to his feet, Drake dashed towards the zombie knife in hand knowing full well he couldn't waste anymore shots. He was going to finish it old school. Just as he came mere inches from Dressard the blade above him the zombie swept him aside with another swing of its long arms sending Drake smashing against a wall with a scream of agony. He crashed to the ground with the feeling that his guts were jumbled up inside him. He spat out his own blood raising his head to see a claw swinging his way. Rolling forward to avoid the blow Drake recovered in time to fire another three shots before rising to his feet. 'Two shots left Hartmann! Think fast!' his mind screamed as he avoided an incoming blow, the claws scratching against the curved wall with sparks to illuminate its path. The three shots didn't have much effect on Dressard as it continued on its warpath swinging wildly as Drake did his best to avoid its deadly blows. Dressard sent its left claw smashing into the ground mere inches away from were Drake stood. An idea struck Hartmann as he dived for the claw nailing it to the ground with his knife. Dressard let out a roar of pain as it tried to retract its arm. Seeing opportunity Drake rushed for Dressard, avoiding its free arm as he headed straight for the creature.

He dived at Dressard's body at full strength, knocking the zombie down. He jammed the barrel of his weapon into the left socket of Dressard's face and unloaded a round into its crimson eye. Dressard knocked Drake off with it free arm but Drake managed to recover easily as he watched as Dressard struggled to its feet. The fear he once felt was replaced by adrenaline and determination as he watched as Dressard pull its arm free of Drake's knife, sending the blade sliding across the polished floor. Drake dashed for his father's combat knife prompting Dressard to swing his clawed arms towards Drake from both sides. The lawman leapt over the arm that came towards him from the front, timing himself perfectly as he ducked to avoid Dressard's second blow. He reached for his knife, grabbing it by the blade before sidestepping in time to avoid a thrusting manuever by Dressard. Dressard's remaining crimson eye burned with fury now as it raged on like a wounded beast, unstoppable in its quest for self-preservation. It didn't matter to Drake. It was going down. Dressard thrusted his elongated left arm towards Drake again, the claws flying towards the lawman like daggers. Drake managed to avoid the blow but was barely able to escape a second thrust from Dressard's right that seemed to come out of nowhere, grazing Drake's ribs with cuts that burned like acid. Ignoring the pain Drake ran for Dressard again, his knife poised to strike. Unable to retract its arms in time Dressard's remaining eye widened as Drake buried the blade deep into the its other socket. Twisting the blade violently, Drake shoved the barrel of his weapon into Dressard's mouth as it opened it to let out a scream. He fired his last bullet right into its mouth, the slug making an exit wound through the back of its head, silencing Dressard. The zombie fell before Drake's feet, its eye sockets once again empty as blood flowed out of it mouth and eyes. "A little overkill," Drake admitted to himself as he reloaded his weapon thinking about his last shot. 'But it got the job done'. The sound of the sealed steel door unlocking surprised Drake. He looked at the door with an irritated expression. Fate was indeed playing a cruel game with him.

Suddenly pain seized him, a familiar pain that squeezed at his heart forcing Drake to his knees. His vision blurred as he collapsed to the ground, making out a light from the door, a dark slender figure making its way towards him. Jasmine and Sandalwood. Ada Wong.

Ada stared at the fallen sheriff grimly as he spasmed violently on the ground. She glanced at the body of a mutated B.O.W next to him already recognizing it as Matthew Dressard's, Wesker's implanted agent. She pulled out her gun and pointed it at Drake. It was a miracle that Hartmann had managed to survive the virus that swept through town in the beginning, it was a miracle that he had been able to survive a fight with a mutated B.O.W. It appeared that Drake Hartmann had run out of miracles as the virus was finally making its way through his system. 'Sorry sheriff,' she thought as she began to pull back on her weapon's trigger, 'But you'd do the same if you knew what was happening to you.'

"Wong..." said Drake through clenched teeth.

Ada eased her finger off her trigger as she heard Drake speak her name. Uncertain of what was happening, Ada kept her distance, gun still trained at Drake's head as she watched him rise to his feet. He raised his head high enough to allow Ada to look into his eyes. She locked eyes with him, noting the pained expression and the sweat that poured down his face. He was still human. Ada bit her lower lip, considering her next move. Drake stared into the barrel of Ada's GLOCK, his hand clenching his heart. Wordlessly, Ada holstered her weapon and helped the sheriff to his feet. "Easy Sheriff," shesaid as they headed out the door. "I've got you."

"Ugh," was Drake's reply.

Ada smiled at the response. "Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor." She wondered what had she just witnessed while Drake was on the floor. Was he somehow immune to the virus? Was that how he was able to survive so long even after being so heavily wounded by zombies and B.O.Ws which guaranteed instant infection? Ada silently wondered what Wesker would do if he found out about this little wild card.

"Got... signal...yet?" Drake managed between breaths, remembering the computer that Ada was working on.

"No," Ada lied. "But I did manage to find what they were working on," she said, whipping out a diskette of sorts from her pocket. She allowed herself a small smile. It took her some time to break Dressard's code but she had managed to do so after utilizing some code-breaker programmes she had been given before her mission. Copying all relevant data into a mini-diskette, Ada erased the originals before leaving to find Drake. Now all she had to do was get out of town before Smythe or Blake discovered what she had done. "Let's get out of here Sheriff," she told Drake as they made their way out of Blake's secret facility.

Silently, Drake wondered just what Ada Wong was doing when she pointed her weapon at him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Smythe looked at the carcass of Matthew Dressard, noting the bloodstains on its claws. The signs of battle were apparent as claw marks marred the walls and the floor of the round chamber while empty cartridges laid at his feet. Like a Spartan, whoever had fought what was left of Dressard must have been impressive.Weasel came from behind him, agitation on his face. "Nadda boss," he began. "Ain't no meat bags around here." 'Meat bags' referring to the zombies that walked Stonefeather Lake, the primary transformation that most victims of the virus went through. Smythe had suspected that whoever dealt with Dressard could not have left unharmed and would probably fall prey to the virus shortly after. Yet no zombies were found on the premises which left Smythe to ponder who or whathe was dealing with.

"Curious," Smythe said as he bent slight to observe Dressard's claws carefully. Could it have been Hartmann? The older man that Weasel had mentioned?Or the mysterious Ada Wong? Smythe turned to the door as he heard a sharp creak announcing someone had entered the room. Blake came through the door, face as pale as a ghost, informing Smythe that whatever he had found was not pleasant.

"Mr...Smythe," he said with long pauses.

"Spit it out Wilson," Smythe demanded returning his attention to Dressard's bloodied claws.

"The...files...the codes were broken and...they were deleted and..."

"Don't you have any surveillance devices Wilson?" asked Smythe casually.

"Yes..." answered Blake uneasily.

"Then we'll have a look at them later," Smythe said as he glanced at Hammer. "Your knife if you would Hammer," Smythe said.

Blake looked confused, watching the muscular man hand Smyhte the blade. "But sir...the files stolen contain information on everything I've worked on. They're at risk of being-"

"Noted Blake," Smythe cut Blake off as he began sawing off Dressard's clawed hand, blood spurting onto his gloved hand. "We'll look into it soon. But first," Smythe tore off the hand cleanly, rising to his feet. "Run a DNA scan on the blood on these claws. I wish to test a theory."

He turned to Weasel. "It seems we've let this play out far too long. Weasel, double your efforts and find Wong. I have no doubt that either she or someone else connected to Wesker is behind this theft. Try to take her alive if you can. Kill her if you cannot."

Weasel smiled. "Got it boss," he said with avarice in his voice.

Smythe looked at the bloodied claw he had just amputated. He allowed himself a small smile. Things were getting interesting and for the first time in years leaving Smythe to wonder just how the rest of the story would play out.


	7. Act 6

Act 6: All in the blood

The trip to town was surprisingly peaceful save for the blistering winds that fought Ada and Drake whilst they sought refugee from the Razor's fury. Drake was worst off than Ada, bracing the elements in little more than bloodied, shredded garments. Ada noted the sheriff's silence as she helped balance his weight, the wounds he had received in his last fight taking a toll on the young man's body. No doubt Drake was in considerable pain, but Ada surmised that his silence had little to do with his wounds.

They came to a junction after minutes of walking, shadows of buildings loomed over them as Drake tried to make out where they were. "Thurston Avenue," Drake announced, eyeing a fallen signpost in the distance. "There should be a drugstore somewhere around," he said dryly as he broke away from Ada, taking a few steps forward to confirm his bearings. "There," he managed, pointing to a storehouse with a shattered window. Ada quickly returned to Drake's side, taking his arm as they headed in the direction of the drugstore.

Entering the establishment, the two could already see a corpse laying slumped over a cash register. Racks of medical supplies had fallen over, either blown down by the violent winds of the Razor or knocked over by seemingly mindless zombies. Drake stopped Ada from moving any further, glancing at the corpse with concern. "Can we be sure that it's dead?" he asked, wary of all the near-fatal encounters he had experienced with supposedly dead bodies. Wordlessly Ada whipped out her GLOCK with her free hand, firing a perfect shot towards the head of the corpse, the hot lead bursting the head like a melon splattering blood everywhere as the corpse slid down behind the counter.

"Sure we can," Ada answered humorlessly as she holstered her weapon.

"Huh," Drake uttered in mild shock in the direction of the counter as Ada rested him against a wall. Immediately she searched the store for bandages and other medical supplies. Ada's thoughts returned to the valuable diskette she had procured and the prized information it contained. An extraction via aircraft of any sort seemed unlikely while the storm raged and knowing Wesker, Ada doubted he'd risk losing any resources despite the greater gains that awaited him. Wesker just wasn't a gambling man. Still she couldn't risk staying in hostile territory any longer than she had to. She had already completed her primary objective by retrieving information on Blake's work, all she needed was to find a way out of Stonefeather Lake before Blake or Jeremiah Smythe caught up to her. Picking up an unopened pack of bandages, Ada wondered if Hartmann could be of any help in that respect. He'd proven useful so far though Ada was starting to feel that Hartmann was suspecting something. It was a complication Ada hoped to avoid but one she was familiar with dealing with. Heading towards Drake with the supplies, she wondered if it would come to that.

Drake was already dozing off before snapping back to the waking world with the sound of Ada's footsteps. He felt as weak as a kitten, the seizure he had suffered in Blake's mansion sapping him of his strength. Ada bent next to him, pulling her right glove off. She rested the back of her hand onto his forehead and then his neck. "You're developing a fever," she declared, helping Drake undo his shirt. Drake remained silent as Ada pulled off his undershirt to reveal the clean slash wounds on his right arm and the left of his torso. "This is getting to be a habit," Ada said in reference to their early encounter as she cleaned his wounds with an alcohol-soaked fabric. "You're quite the survivor."

Drake managed a small smile at Ada's last comment. He remembered Sheriff Sam O'Neil making a similar comment about Drake and his grandfather. "All in the blood," he whispered.

"Keep talking Sheriff," urged Ada as she wrapped his abdomen in bandages. The last thing a wounded man would do in the middle of a snowstorm was sleep. The risk of freezing to death was high as victims slipped all too easily into slumber, never to awaken again. "What's in the blood?" she pressed on.

"_Mut_."

Ada looked up from Drake's arm. "Pardon?"

"_Mut_. Deutsch for courage," he explained, watching Ada bandage the fresh wounds on his arm.

"I'm more of a Francophone fanatic myself," admitted Ada, finishing the dressing on Drake's arm. "You're German?"

"Me? I'm American. Born and raised on the last frontier of the Great American Wild," Drake answered with a smile as he put his clothes back on. "But we Hartmanns never forget our roots."

"They must be worth remembering," commented Ada while helping the young man to his feet.

"My great grandfather Klaus, he came here to Stonefeather from the Fatherland after fighting in the Great War. My grandpa saw action in North Africa during the second war. Dad served in Vietnam with the Rangers," he said, his exhaustion imminent in his voice.

"Strong lineage you hail from," Wong said as she waited for Drake to recover. His hands were on his knees, pausing to draw breath and gather his strength.

"Strong, among other things," Drake replied feeling his own strength returning as he thought of his grandfather who was still out there. He turned to Ada; the memory of her pointing her weapon at him back at Blake's still fresh in his mind. "What about you?" he ventured, twisting his arm slightly to accommodate the tightness of the bandages.

"What?" she responded, unsure of the question.

"What were your parents like?" Drake clarified his query, reaching into his pockets to dig out two empty clips and a box of handgun bullets. He placed them on the counter, looking over it to see the headless corpse Ada had shot. 'Better now while things are calm' he thought as he began loading the slugs into an empty clip.

Ada frowned as she watched Drake work. The question was meant as a test. That much Ada figured out easily. She had expected just as much from the sheriff since the incident in the mansion but was still bothered by his choice of question. No one had ever asked her about her past so bluntly. Not even Leon. "Well?" Drake asked, his eyes not lifting from his task.

Leaning against the counter where Drake worked, Ada sighed slightly. She considered her answer. "Don't ask me about my father," she began. "But my mother was an artist."

Drake looked up from his half-loaded clip and cocked an eyebrow. "As in one of those pop artists with no real talent or…"

"She was a real artist," she quickly added, smiling at Drake's less than positive view on pop artists. "Oil paintings. Scenery mostly. That was her forte." Ada suddenly looked at her boots wondering why she was telling Hartmann all this.

"Ever sold a painting?" asked Drake before starting on his second clip. He would have had three clips to work with but it seemed he had lost one in the course of his battles.

Ada shook her head slightly. "No. For her it was more of a passion than a profession. Not that her paintings weren't any good," she explained. She smiled as an old memory clawed its way out from her subconscious. "She brought me to France once. Paris, for an art gallery where some of her works were on display. Then to the countryside. Wine country. It was beautiful."

Drake gave Ada a thoughtful look. "She sounds like quite a lady," he said.

Ada nodded slightly, turning her face away from Drake. "She was," she replied almost whispering.

Drake looked at her for a moment. Memories of Alice Hartmann nearly brought a tear to his eyes. 'The strongest of us all,' he remembered his grandfather speaking fondly of his daughter-in-law. Her lost devastated Drake's father Kristoff after losing her battle with Cancer. Drake was only six when she died but fondly remembered the smell of her hair, the softness of her caress and the melody of her voice as she sang him to sleep in times past. It was an old wound that didn't need opening, Drake regretting thinking of such memories in so dire a situation. "I'm sorry."

Ada looked up at Drake in puzzlement. "For what?" she asked.

"For…never mind," Drake stuttered as he reconsidered his words. There were more pressing matters at hand. "So what now?" he queried. He watched as Ada seemed to dive deep in thought, analyzing the situation, but noted that her face betrayed nothing. Drake's thoughts drifted back to the incident at the mansion, grinding his jaw slightly. There was more to what was happening than Ada was letting on. His early question was meant to probe her defenses, to find a way to bring her guard down. The results were unexpected and accomplished nothing. If Ada was lying to him, she was doing a pretty convincing job of it.

"We can't stay here," Ada declared finally. She turned to Drake, her composure as strong as before. "We need to find a way out of town . The main road's-

"Been blocked. I forgot to mention that earlier. Someone's been keeping himself busy trying to keep us in town," he continued for her, sliding his clip slowly into the .40 Beretta. "I think this Smythe character has something to do with it."

Ada frowned slightly at the mention of Smythe. "There has to be another way," she said calmly.

Drake gave it a thought. "Well there is a tunnel that cuts through the mountainside to the east of town. It leads out to the main highway towards the border. I haven't checked it yet but-

"It's gone," Ada confirmed, remembering seeing the tunnel in question when she scouted the town.

"Crap," muttered Drake as he rubbed his temples. A thought struck him. He remembered back in Mayor Bernard's office, he read an entry in the Mayor's journal pertaining to the incident at the mines involving his father's death. "Unless…" he began.

"Unless what?" Ada asked as she drew closer to Drake.

Glancing at her, Drake considered his words. "Across the lake there are coal mines where most of the townsfolk work," he explained. He stopped himself, thinking of the risks included in his idea.

"Go on," Ada assured him, her interest piqued.

"In the eastern tunnels, there was an accident that opened up another path that leads into a chasm or a cave. This cave apparently leads out to Raven Creek on the other side of the mountains

"From there it's a two day trip to the next town. Problem is the Eastern mines aren't what you'd call stable. And who knows what's happened to them since this disaster started."

Ada weighed this new information carefully. Traveling all the way across town to the coal mines alone sounded suicidal for so uncertain a gambit. It would leave them out in the open for too long and Ada suspected that Smythe or Blake would be turning over every stone to find her, or rather the data she had stolen. 'Although the risks are considerable, staying here would be just as dangerous' she concluded. "How long will it take for us to get to the mines from here?" Ada asked, turning to Drake.

The lawman shrugged. "Assuming we don't run into anymore trouble, about an hour or so," he told her. "But if we're headed for the mines, we've got to find my grandfather first."

Ada nodded, completely forgetting about Drake's grandfather that apparently roamed the town by himself. She pulled out her gun and levelled it at a nearby rack, aligning her aim. "Then we'd better get a move on," she said at last, holstering her GLOCK. Drake nodded, holstering his on weapon as he followed Ada out the door.

The hours in the harsh winds didn't seem to bother Drake anymore as he walked around town in search of his grandfather. He checked the school once more since it was the last place he had seen his grandfather but found nothing. Concern and fear for the old man's safety gripped at Drake whilst he and Ada checked every opened house, shop and alleyway for him, running into a number of zombies which were dealt with easily thanks to Ada's impressive skill with a gun. After hours of searching, they came across a most disturbing sight. In the Town Square where the town held banquets and parties in times past, had now become a field of snow, blood and dismembered limbs. Arms stuck out of pure white snow like grave markers next to feet and legs that soaked the icy field in shades of dark crimson. Drake found the sight difficult to comprehend, turning to Ada in hopes of an explaination or an idea of what had transpired here but found her visage locked in a grim expression of thought and perhaps, fear. "What the Hell happend here?" Drake whispered as he looked around the bloodbath. He'd seen nothing like it before, grinding his teeth while his mind conjured up the appearance of the creatures that might have done this. The 'victims' were already dead to begin with. Zombies simply waiting to feed on flesh or a bullet to end their miserable existance. Somehow this fate seemed too much to Drake. To have thier corpses ripped apart and defiled so. These were people he knew, neighbours, old schoolmates, men and women he grew up with. The knot in his stomach tightened as he recognized the face of Trent North, a miner and friend, his face the cold blue of the frozen dead, his visage locked in an expression of wanton hunger despite its detachment from its body. Another name to add to the fallen of Stonefeather, another face to haunt Drake.

"We should move on," Ada said solemnly, resting a hand on Drake's shoulder when she noticed his fixation on the decapitated head. Drake gave the hand a cold stare which made Ada withdraw it slowly. The howls of the wind deepened as Drake stood statuesque in thought.

"Lets go," he said at last turning to Ada with contempt written all over his face. Ada wondered silently whether it was contempt for her or for himself.

A deafening roar broke Ada's chain of thoughts as she and Drake spun around, whipping out their weapons in readiness. They looked all about, seeing a blur of shadow veiled by snowfall pas them at lightning speed. Ada felt something brush against her face, firing a shot into the snow in reaction only to have her shot hit nothing. "What is that?" she yelled at Drake as she looked all around, a bitter taste enveloping her mouth.

Drake's eyes focused hard, catching sights of a huge figure running circles all around them, letting out low predatory snarls. He shot a glance at Ada who was equally panicked, holding her gun up, switching her line of sight at every sound that echoed out from the snowstorm all about them. A low growl from behind them forced Ada and Drake to turn around slowly, only to face their illusive predator. It stood on its hind legs, its towering height cast a similarly long shadow across Drake and Ada. Fur ripped open to reveal the bloodied flesh that trailed all the way down from the right side of the Kodiak's face, all the way down to the blade-like claws that now adorned its right paw. Naked arteries and veins throbbed atop the exposed portion of the bear's face, Drake noting the two large spikes that seemed to have been grown right out of its back. Its eyes glowed a shade of crimson, Drake immediately realizing that this was Smythe's doing. Warm saliva drooled from the Kodiak's mouth, its fangs sharp and covered in blood. It looked at Drake, then Ada. The two took a few steps back, their guns pointed to the ground out of fear that the creature would strike at the closest sign of aggression. It sniffed the air, looking at the two with a menacing stare letting out a blood-thirsty growl from its throat.

Ada made the first move, attempting a head shot as she raised her weapon. The blow came like lighting, the Kodiak's razor sharp claws tearing through the Kevlar body armor she wore. The strike flung Ada back, hitting the ground hard. Drake opened fire at the Kodiak, running to Ada's side. The shots were true but they probably had as much effect as bee stings as the Kodiak swung its deadly razor claw towards Drake. His sharp reflexes allowed him to avoid the strike, grabbing Ada by the shoulders as he dragged her up to her feet. "Run!" yelled Drake as he fired at the Kodiak again, only to have it shake off the shots like they were mere stings. But they were enough to annoy it. Ada lagged behind, feeling the wounds that adorned her chest. Drake turned in horror as the Kodiak lunged for her, forcing him to dive in her way. The two tumbled out of the Kodiak's way, Ada feeling a burning sensation as her body was wracked in pain. The Kodiak craned its neck slightly towards the fallen two. It got down on all fours and slowly headed towards them, anticipating the warmth of their blood. Drake recovered in time and blasted the beast point-blank in its head, the Kodiak roaring in agony as it rolled on the snow covered ground. "Come on!" he screamed as he pulled Ada to her feet. Rendered groggy by the attack and Drake's takedown, Ada was slow to react, trying her best to keep up with Drake but ultimately falling behind. The Kodiak was back on its feet, a scowl enveloping its demonic face as it eyed its prey in the distance. Drake stopped as Ada fell to her knees, unable to continue. "Crap..." muttered Drake as he saw the Kodiak running towards them on all fours with a speed that shocked Drake. Releasing Ada from his grip Drake fired at the Kodiak in an attempt to draw it away from the fallen Wong. "Ada!" Drake called out to her as he drew the Kodiak's attention. Ada looked to Drake, slowly rising to her feet. "Run!" he ordered as he himself started running, the Kodiak close on his heels.

Shaking herself awake, Ada felt for the slash marks on her body armor in fear. She looked at her fingers and let out a sigh of relief. No blood. The kevlar had barely saved her, Ada suddenly feeling vunerable for the first time. Drake and the Kodiak were out of sight but Ada could still hear the faint sounds of gunfire and beast-like howls. Without hesitation, Ada started looking for cover to recollect herself. If she was lucky, Hartmann could deal with the B.O.W and eliminate a dangerous variable. Or the Kodiak could kill Drake, saving her the trouble of having to do so herself in case he got out of line. Remembering what Hartmann said about the mines beyond the lake, Ada whipped out her thermal goggles only to find them shattered, most likely after the fall she took. She spat out a curse, tossing the goggles to the ground and ran blindly into the streets of Stonefeather.

The scent of blood was all too familiar to Weasel, being drawn to the bloodbath of the town square. He took a moment to appreciate the limb-layered plains before moving on to follow up on another scent. This one, a pleasant aroma. Another scent that Weasel was familiar with. The scent of a woman. "What do we have here?" mused Weasel as he bent slightly to pick up a pair of discarded goggles. He took a whiff of them, savoring the still-warm scent of his prey. With a smile, Weasel looked to the empty streets of Stonefeather, licking his lips in anticipation.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Jesus Christ! This thing can run!' Drake's mind screamed as the Kodiak roared from behind him, knocking away snow-layered cars the lay dormant on the streets effortlessly, its crimson eyes locked onto Drake. His legs felt like wax, forcing Drake to stumble to his knees while the Kodiak lunged for him. Rolling out of its way, Drake struggled to his feet to stare the creature straight in the eye, raising his weapon at it. Unsuprisingly unfazed by the weapon, the bear swiped at Drake, missing the lawman by mere millimeters prompting Drake to retaliate by sending another two slugs into the beast's chest. The Kodiak stumbled back, the gunshots finally having an effect. Adrenaline once again pumped through Drake's veins as he watched the bear finally back down from the blows.

He ran half a cirlce around the Kodiak as his trained hands worked at changing his clip. The click of the chamber being loaded sent the adrenaline up Drake's spine as he fired away at the mutated beast. The bear fell on all fours, keeping its head down to avoid the shots. Just as Drake was about to close in for the kill, the Kodiak rose on its two hind legs, its towering height stopped Drake in his tracks while it grabbed a nearby car with its paws. Drake's eyes widened at the realisation of what was coming, running for a nearby shophouse. Smashing through the wide glass window, Drake rushed for cover behind a counter. The car smashed against the shophouse with a thunderous sound, sending shards of metal and glass flying in every direction while Drake kept his head down behind the counter. Drake raised his head slightly to see the remains of an old Ford woody in pieces, the glass on its doors and windshields broken by the impact. Drake grinded his teeth as he looked for a way out, wary of the smell of a gas leak. The Kodiak peered through the wreckage of the car, its lumbering size squeezing its upper body through the shattered glass window of the shophouse, confirming its kill. Instinctively, Drake aimed for the gas tank of the car, hoping whoever the car belonged to had filled it up. He fired two shots, the first punturing the tank, sending gasoline squirting all over the floor, the second sending a spark onto the leaking gas. Fire trailed the small river of fuel into the gas tank, prompting Drake to keep his head down the counter again, hearing a huge explosion followed by a rush of blaring heat that washed over him.

Drake raised his head slowly, making certain that the Kodiak was gone while fire ensued the enitre building. He rushed for the door, diving into the snow as soon as he got out. He looked around, turning to see half of a burning woody sticking out of the shophouse. He grinded his teeth, noting a trail of blood that led away from the burning wreckage. It had survived, probably retreating to lick its wounds. 'Not a bad idea' Drake thought as he suddenly bent over from exhaustion, his hands on his knees. His grandfather and now Ada were out there with a town full of zombies and a monster bear. He was more concerned about Ada whom he left nursing a wound. As tough as she was, Drake was worried about the extent of her wounds. Just as he started to make a move, the sound of zombie bloodcalls could be heard from behind him, probably attracted by the fire or the smell of blood. Or both. "Wonderful," muttered Drake, steadying himself for another fight.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It seemed like an eternity to Ada as she trudged through the thigh-deep snow that layered the street she had found herself walking upon. Without her thermal goggles, Ada was for the first time running blind in B.O.W infested territory with little more than a GLOCK and a half-spent Scorpion sub-machine gun slung across her shoulder. She winced at the pain that burned in her chest, having yet to properly check the extent of her wounds courtesy of the mutated bear.

The encounter with the creature left a bad taste in Ada's mouth. Animals were susceptible to numerous strains and variants of the T-Virus, but most were usual unstable mutations that would eventually disintegrate into bloodied carcasses after a few hours. The only animals successfully mutated were canines, insects and arachnids. Whatever had infected that bear must have been the strain of the virus that Blake was working on. Or was it? Ada had yet to encounter any animal B.O.Ws since the virus made its way through town, leaving Ada to assume the animals in town could not survive the mutation process. No zombie dogs, oversized insects or canine-sized spiders had ambushed her or were seen. Perhaps the bear was a one-off, just like Hartmann and his grandfather. Grinding her teeth, Ada's thoughts drifted back to the young sheriff, wondering if he had survived the encounter with the Kodiak. He certainly had a knack for coming out on top of some brutal encounters, be it by luck or his own skills. She thought back to the incident at the mansion. Scientists in Umbrella had always mentioned a possibility of encountering individuals with a strong Immunity system that could very well stop the T-Virus and its other variants in its tracks, though none had been found in the Arklay Mountains, Raccoon City and Code Veronica incidents. Few had such a favorable biological trait, fewer still could survive the zombies even if they did the virus. Hartmann's death would have been a waste. But still, there was the older man that Drake mentioned, Drake's grandfather. Perhaps there was still a way to get back into Wesker's good graces.

Ada's chain of thoughts was interrupted when she sensed something. Without the protection of her goggles, icy flakes of snow attacked her eyes, rendering her sight nearly useless but she knew something was out there, shifting her line of sight in all directions, struggling to make out anything through the dense snowfall. Her fingers felt numb as they tightened around the grip of her GLOCK, her breathing heavy. She was in no condition for a fight, but knew she had little say in the matter. The sound of footsteps on icy snow caught her attention, swinging around to see a man standing in plain sight, mere inches away from the barrel of her readied weapon. He was a man in his early thirties, slacking facial features and a mop of deep brown hair. He was dressed in a fashionable Armani suit he wore open, along with a plain white shirt underneath. His hands hidden in his pockets,he stood before Ada with an arrogantsmirk on his face, unaffected by the chilling frost all about him.

Ada kept her weapon trained at the man's head, knowing instantly that this was no friend of Hartmann or herself.

"They said you were a looker," he said, scratching his chin as he looked up and down at her like she were a fine art piece. "They weren't kidding."

Ada felt her gut tighten, the man took a step forward. " I wouldn't move if I were you," Ada threatened.

"Oh? Easy sweets. My boss just wants to have a little talk with you. Maybe even get his stuff back. 'Course, you could make this easy for the both of us and just follow me...or we could get rough," he said with a hint of humor in his voice. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Though personally, I think you'd like the rough stuff."

Ada smiled dryly, lowering her weapon. She jammed it into her holster, carefully reaching forthe flashbang that hung next to it. "Just a talk?" she asked.

Weasel raised his eyebrows in disappointment. "Yeah, and maybe some crumpets knowing the boss," he muttered. "Real shame. They said you had teeth," he said.

"Oh?" exclaimed Ada, pulling the safety pin out of the grenade and quicky tossing it in Weasel's direction. "They're right," she said before detonation, sending a blinding flash throughout the area. Weasel's eyes burned as he fell back, the ringing in his ears nearly driving him crazy.

"Miserable bitch!" Weasel screamed as his vision returned. He sniffed the air, detecting Ada's scent instantly. He dashed in the direction of her smell, catching up her her effortlessly. Ada swung around firing two shots at her pursuerer, watching in shock as Weasel deftly dodged both of them with ease. He grabbed her by her gun hand,throwing her to the ground and tossing her weapon away. Ada recovered quickly from the takedown, whipping out her knife in a slash manuever only to have Weasel catch her by the arm again, exerting such pressure on it, her knife fell out of it. Ada retaliated by smashing the heel of her boot in her attacker's face, the blow forcing Weasel back. A trickle of blood flowed slowly out of Weasel's nose as he felt for the bone in that sensitive area. Broken. While Weasel was busy with his own wound, Ada rushed for her weapon, grabbing the GLOCK and firing it in one fluid motion. Three well placed shots nailed Weasel in both his shoulders and his chest, sending him crashing to the ground. Ada rose to her feet, both her hands wrapped around the weapon tightly as she approached the motionless body. She gave him a kick and then fired another shot into his chest. Nothing. Slowly, she backed away from the corpse as blood flowed outwards, soaking the snow all about it. She sighed in relief turning around to change her clip as she headed for a safe spot to plan her next move. Upon taking her first step, Ada stopped, breathing heavily while she slid a new clip into her GLOCK slowly.

She turned her head slowly, catching a glimpse of Weasel rising to his feet. Ada pivoted quickly on her heel, raising her weapon.It was blur but Ada noticed a burst of flesh and blood knowing she had yet to pull the trigger. Two tendrils swept out on the ground,pulling Ada off her feet. Ada's eyes widened, watching in horror as she realised where the tendrils originated from. A large mouth layered with rows of teeth opened itself on Weasel's chest as the tendrils dragged her towards it. She fired at Weasel, the shots seemingly having no effect on Weasel as he gave her a sadistic smile. She reached for another grenade, tossing the cylindrical device into the mouth of Weasel's chest.The tendrils released their grip on Ada's feet, catching the grenade in mid-air and tossing it away from Weasel. The device detonated harmlessly away from them, sending up aburst of snow."Sneaky little bitch aren't ya sweets?" Weasel sneered, returning his attention to his target. Wong was already back on her feet, raising her Scorpion at Weasel, the laser painting her target perfectly. "How's about a little kiss?" he taunted her, unafraid of her weapon. Ada smiled squeezing the trigger only to have it knocked out of her hands by a tendril, striking from under the snow. The Scorpion fell, to the ground, a tendril pulling it towards Weasel. "Nice," he commented a he took the weapon in hand. He fired blindly at Ada, forcing her to roll out of harms way with quick reflexes. Weasel laughed maniacally, taking pleasure in tormenting his prey. Ada dived behind a nearby car, noticing a cut on her arm, probably from grazing a bullet. Panic began to set it, she was unarmed against a B.O.W mutation who was fully aware of his capabilites and Ada's situation. No way was he going to let go of her. Ada reached for her last grenade and fingered the ring of the safety pin while bullets shattered the glass and punctured holes through the car she used for cover. The sound of a click was all Ada waited for as she swept around the car, tossing the grenade towards Weasel.

Weasel's eyes widened, willing his free tendril to capture the grenade in mid-air. The grenade detonated upon touch, sending shrapnel flying in all directions, searing flechettes stabbing into his arm as he raised it in time to protect his face. The pain shot through him like fire in his veins, almost distracting him from seeing Ada as she picked up her knife. With expert aim, Ada threw her weapon towards her opponent, the blade slice through Weasel's windpipe with shocking ease. Before he could remove it Ada sent a well place kick into his neck, driving the knife deeper into Weasel's throat. Blood spewed out, staining Ada's boot as she backed off for another kick. Reeling from the attack, Weasel's blood boiled as the endless row of teeth that adorned his chest craved for flesh to rip apart. Ada went for his head with another kick but this time Weasel was ready for it, catching her foot mere inches away from his face. With superhuman strength, he swung Ada into the car, knocking the wind out of her. Falling to her knees, blood forced its way out of her mouth while pain paralysed her. A pair of polished shoes came into view as Ada raised her head to see Weasel smiling maliciously, pulling the knife out of his throat. He dropped the bloodied knife, lifting Ada by the neck. His fingers tightened around her throat, Weasel savoring the sight of her helplessness as her warm blood trickled down onto his hand. "The things I'd love to do to you," he whispered, "But the boss wants to get through with you first.". A tendril lifted up Ada's Scorpion. "Forgot your gun sweets," Weasel said as he whipped the weapon into Ada's temple, blacking her out.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Drake picked up the knife from the ground, the blade practically covered in frosted blood. He looked around to see another weapon laying on the ground. A GLOCK. Ada's weapon. Lifting the weapon from the snow, Drake cursed himself for letting her go off on her own in the condition he left her in. He rose to his feet, noting the spent shells that lay all about the snow. Was it zombies? Or maybe the Kodiak? Drake noted the bullet holes and shattered windows on a nearby Cadillac. It looked more like a fire fight had occured. A shining object caught Drake's eye some distance away from him. At first he dismissed it as simply the brass of a bullet shell but could not help but check it out for himself. He squinted his eyes while he drew closer to the object as the shine died off, forcing Drake to feel for it with his bare hands, the icy cold snow nearly numbing his flesh. His search bore fruit as he gingerly picked up a small item off the ground, holding it carefully between his fingers. It was diskette of sorts, too small for any computer he'd seen. He pocketed the item, contemplating his next step. There was no body to confirm that Ada was dead though the possibilty of her becoming a zombie was high. "No," Drake said aloud, refusing to give up on an ally. He tucked Ada's GLOCK under his shirt and continued his search for his grandfather, silently hoping that both he and Ada were alright.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's baffling to say the least," lamented Blake, staring at the screen of his main console. Smythe remained silent, his right hand rubbing his jaw slowly, his mind deep in thought. The screen played out an odd simulation of the results of exposing the blood sample they had found in Blake's lab to strains of viruses, from early versions of the T and G virus, the T Veronica and even Blake's own sample. Smythe had ordered that the blood sample be compared to a normal human's which meant Blake's. On the right side was a microscopic view of Blake's antibodies and the left was that of the intruder. "He'd be inhuman to be able to have so strong an immune system! I mean he'd probably be suffering from OIR" exclaimed Blake, referring to the condition Overzealous Immune Response.

"It was tested for any signs of vaccination?" asked Smythe, his eyes fixed on the other simulation.

"Yes. Nothing," Blake said, fairly confident of his analysis. He looked at the screen in wonderment. "I've never seen anything like it," he said.

"I have," Smythe said, prompting Blake to look at him in surprise. "Ages ago. But never in my wildest dreams could I imagine seeing it again in so remote a place. In so...pure a form." Smythe managed a small smile as memories came flooding back to him. "It'd be a waste not to follow up on this," he declared as he glanced at Blake, "Wouldn't you agree Wilson?"

"Well, it would give us an opportunity to test the limits of this immune system. Maybe even develop a new strain that could possibly overcome this super immune system. Then the weapon would be unstoppable," Blake grinned as he considered the possibilities. The dispersal method of the virus was foolproof hence if he could eliminate the short-comings of the virus itself, he could indeed create the ultimate weapon.

"Indeed," Smythe said, turning away from the screen to see Scarlett dozing off in Blake's chair. The sight brought a smile to his face. "Of course, this is all assuming that our friend survives the rest of this ordeal. And if we can retrieve the information stolen from us," he said, placing a hand softly on Scarlett's head.

"It is done sir," Hammer announced, suddenly coming into the main chamber. Smythe's smile slowly died off, turning to Hammer with a nod. He lifted his hand off Scarlett's head, careful to avoid waking her. Her innocence was her strength and Smythe would not allow anyone to taint it. He left the chamber silently with Blake and Hammer following closely behind. Deep in sleep, Scarlett walked bare-footed on a field of lush green grass, the sun shining on her face and Smythe sitting nearby, smiling at her. Nothing would bring her more joy. Nothing.

Ada's hands and feet were bound tightly as she laid strapped to an operating table of sorts by leather binds. A blinding light shined directly into her eyes. It was like staring into the sun, the rays of light piercing her eyes while her mind raced for an idea to free herself. "Comfortable sweets?" a voice said, Ada immediately recognising it. The table began to move, lifting its angle until Ada faced her nemesis. He looked uninjured from their encounter save for a number of bloodstains on his silk white shirt and a scar on his throat. Ada kept her face neutral, her eyes revealed no fear nor anger. Weasel drew himself closer to her. He rested his hand on the table,his face coming closer to her neck. He sniffed at her like an animal, rubbing his nose against the skin of her neck. Ada shut her eyes, clenching her fists but said nothing. "You smell good," he commented with a smile, his finger tracing the zipper of her body armor."I bet you like this huh? Getting tied up, feeling helpless while a big," he toyed with her zipper, "strong man like me plays with you."

Ada gave him a flirtatous smile. "Tell me if you see one."

Weasel's smile died, his hand suddenly on her neck. "Watch it sweets. I'm being nice here," he said as he slowly unzipped the vest.

"That's enough Weasel," a voice said. Weasel stopped as the zip came half way down, exposing the thick combat uniform Ada wore slightly.

Weasel backed off, not hiding the disappointment on his face. A tall figure walked into the room which Ada figure was an operating theatre with all the apparatus all about. He was a handsome, older man with distinctively sharp facial features and smooth, long white hair. But what captured Ada's attention immediately was his eyes, green like emeralds with a fire unlike anything she'd ever seen. She almost missed the other two that followed closely behind. One was a tall, muscular man with strong Slavic features that reminded Ada of Jack Krauser. The other with a short and stout man in his early forties, looking all too serious in his terrible blue stripped suit. Ada surmised that this was the sought Wilson Blake. " I apologize for Weasel's rudeness.He sometimes over-reaches the limits of his freedom," the man said as he shot Weasel a dispassionate look. Ada could see Weasel recoil in fear of this new comer, sweat drops forming on his forehead. He returned his attention to Ada. "Ada Wong. The illusive Red Butterfly," he said with a smile as he zipped up her vest.

"Jeremiah Smythe, I presume?" Ada said.

Smythe bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. "Yes. The tales of your beauty do you no justice. You're much more lovely than I had envisioned. However I'm afraid I will have to cut the pleasantries short. I believe you have something of mine," he said, his voice warm yet somehow discomforting to Ada.

She maintained her composure. "I'm afraid you won't find me the talkative sort."

"A pity. It has been such a long since I had a conversation with such," Smythe paused, smiling at Ada, "Charming company. However, I'm sure we could find time later. After you've returned what you have taken." He turned to Weasel. "You had her searched?"

"Yeah. Couldn't find anything except some Palmtop. Looked through her files. There wasn't anything on it," Weasel reported. Ada's heart jumped at the mention of her communicator. They hadn't found the diskette. But how? She had it all the while, unless she dropped it in her battle with Weasel.

"Curious,"said Smythe, returning his gaze to Ada. "I'm certain you have an idea as to where my files are. After all, we know you took them and even erased all traces of the originals. I'd like them back now," Smythe drew himself closer to Ada's face, the smell of his minty aftershave so strong it nearly brought a tear to Ada's eyes. He looked straight in Ada's brown eyes, locked in an almost hypnotic stare. "Where are the files Ms.Wong?" he asked softly.

Ada's heart thumped hard as she looked into Smythe's eyes. It was like a battle of auras, karma flowing between them like a river, a river that was flowing against Ada. Her lips parted slightly, panting while her gaze was still on Smythe's emerald eyes. "On...a diskette," she managed despite the protests of her mind. Smythe turned to Weasel who responded by shaking his head.

"And where, pray tell, is this diskette?" Smythe pressed on.

"I don't know."

"She's lying boss!" yelled Weasel, his fists clenched in agitation.

Smythe raised an eyebrow. "Ms.Wong, in this room, Weasel has more experience in interrogation than I do and often gets the answers I seek. However, I find his methods rather distasteful and would rather prefer to avoid such unneccessary blood-letting. But if you are lying to me, you would leave me no choice but to put you in his hands. And as you can probably tell, he has been looking forward to some time alone with you," he said. A gloved hand touched her chin, Smythe lifting her head gently to observe her brown eyes more closely. "I urge you to consider your options."

Ada's strength began to fail her whilst Smythe fixed his stare into her, almost like he was peering into the very depths of her soul. Ada flinched, unable to match karma with her inquisitor. Smythe backed away slowly. "She's telling the truth," he declared prompting a disappointed response from those all around him. "She doesn't know where the diskette is," said Smythe, turning his back towards her.

"But then where could it be?" whined Blake, panic thick in his voice. It seemed to Ada that he had much to lose in the matter.

Smythe turned to Weasel. "Search the area where you apprehended her. It might..." Smythe stopped himself. "No, no. Ignore that," he said, turning to Ada. He managed a small smile. "Our friend Sheriff Hartmann will do it for us," he said. "After all, as Sheriff, his duty is to protect and to serve."


	8. Interlude

Interlude:

Dang! Whoever said writing was easy must be a nutcase! Hey guys, sorry to spoil and dash your hopes for a fresh chapter (well…assuming you were expecting one) but I decided to take a short break from the keyboard in order to set my affairs straight and maybe even rethink the branching of my story (its going somewhere…just not sure where). But being a fan of comics and riding on the elation of having 7 reviews which is 7 more than I'd ever expect for my first fanfic, I decided to cool down a little and talk about the story, what drove to write it and my influences…

Where to begin? Maybe in 2000 when I got my first game console, my beloved Dreamcast. Yes, fate dealt a cruel…cruel hand to my loving game machine when Sega decided to pull the plug on its console, but not before it gave us DC owners a taste of the pleasures of the Gaming world. Code Veronica was my first RE and I was hooked and fell in love with Claire. It took me awhile but I managed to get the DC versions of RE2 and 3. The story of a city infested with zombies was a chilling thought though I felt 3 had dampened the scare factor slightly with the whole mercenaries' angle and fearless gun-toting girl Jill. But it was more than enough to hook me for good and official I became an RE fan. It took me nearly 3 years but I managed to get myself a PS2, and just in time as well as years later, I'd be treated to another dose of survival horror the likes I'd never experienced before!...Or so I thought.

RE4 was albeit disappointing to me for two reasons: I felt the gameplay and storyline were designed to compete with Kojima's masterpiece Metal Gear Solid (Leon's horrible one-liners, the pointless radio conversations, the religious terrorist angle, the president's daughter etc.). It felt out of place, killed the horror aspect of the game and damn near killed all respect I had for Leon. In fact, I think it did kill all my respect for Leon. Graphically speaking, the game was breathtaking and the new combat system though it took me some time to get used to, was indeed a stroke of genius. I've replayed the game 4 times on several different difficulties and the combat is still exhilarating. My only gripe: It wasn't survival horror. It was a spy movie. Feel free to disagree, this is just my opinion. The second reason the game disappointed me is stupid even by my standards: It didn't have Claire. What can I say? I'm a sucker for tomboyish redheads.

The ending for RE4 left a bad taste in my mouth and I thought what every fanfic writer thinks when he sees something he doesn't agree with: I can do better than that. It took me weeks to summon the fortitude to actually pitch this up to my best friend, a fellow RE and comic book fan much like me, notorious for being a skeptic and a brutal…brutal critic. Who else can you go to when you want an honest opinion? The bluntest guy you know. You might not like him but you know he'll never lie to you. Anyway, the original premise was pretty crappy: "Tim (the original name for my main character) is an ex-cop who returns home to his old town in the mid-west only to find out that thing have changed since he's been gone. Umbrella's set up a new factory there and people have been mysteriously dying. Overnight, the town turns to bedlam and Tim must find a way out!" Crappy you think? My best pal (we'll call him Saitou from here on) thought so too. So my original premise got shot down and around the same time, I managed to save up enough cash to get myself the full collection of Steven Niles' 30 Days of Night. And there it was: Brilliance. Of course. The premise was excellent: In a secluded town in Alaska (sound familiar?) called Barrow, the sun doesn't rise in 30 days leaving the town at the mercy of Vampires who go about slaughtering the townsfolk. I had my new setting: Alaska. I went to Saitou with my idea and he shot it down again with just one phrase: "Rip-off". He was right, and the one thing I didn't want to do was to rip anyone off. But hey, I thought if I shifted things around a little, talk about stuff Niles didn't in his work. Instead of the night as the secondary setting, I thought about another possible threat to a man: Snowstorm. So now I had both my primary and secondary settings: A secluded Alaskan town in the middle of a Snowstorm, infested with zombies. Of course, I needed the approval of his most Wisest, Saitou, who didn't shoot it down but did warn me that it was going to be very difficult to pull off.

"Ever been in a snowstorm?" he asked. "Forget that. Ever been to Alaska?" Sadly, I didn't. So I grudgingly decided to refer to Niles' work a little more. After a little tinkering, I thought about characters. My mind and heart screamed for me to write a story about Claire. Thankfully I was still logical enough to ask myself one very important question: "Why the hell would Claire go to Alaska? In fact, why the hell would Claire go anywhere now that she's been reunited with her brother? I immediately cut Claire out of the story. I love her too much to put her in the frozen hellhole I'm writing. For characters I really needed to seek inspiration from the best set of characters ever written in my humble opinion: the cast of Batman the Animated series. I'll admit here and now, before I was ever an RE fan, I was a Batman worshipper and definitely tailored some of these characters with Batman villains and heroes in mind:

Drake Hartmann:

Originally I named him Tim, after Batman's current Robin, Tim Drake. For some reason, Tim seemed a little too soft to me and I decided to go with Drake because of its European roots to the name Draco. I based his character and appearance loosely off another favorite character of mine, Terry McGinnis, from Batman Beyond. Of course he lacks Terry's attitude but I like to think he makes up for it in terms of guts and courage. The name Hartmann I chose because it sounded Germanic which was something I really wanted to make clear. That Drake had Germanic roots. Eventually you'll see why.

Daniel Hartmann:

Daniel's character was based slightly off Bruce Wayne's character in Batman Beyond, as an old but still tough and capable man. I wanted to give him the old soldier kind of character with something of a cowboy charm. Daniel should be around 70 or 80 but he's as spry as a 50 year old (well…as spry as a fifty year old can be). In terms of looks I'd say he resembles an older (much older) version of Aquaman, with the beard and the short hair and such. Some of you who read the story might have noticed that Daniel's father, Klaus, fought _for_ the Germans in WW1 while Daniel fought against them in WW2. I was worried that most of you would find this ridiculous, which Saitou does, but let me assure you that all will be explained.

Wilson Blake:

Blake plays the role of the snobbish self-important genius who I based on another snobbish and self-important character called the Ultra Humanite in the DCU. Alas, unlike the Humanite, Blake isn't _that _smart, but he likes to think so. I'd imagine he treats everyone other than Smythe and his crew like dirt. Well, if I were as smart as him, I probably would too.

Weasel:

Well now, Weasel I got a little creative. I always assumed that there would eventually be an Armani clad character in RE (considering how the Japanese are writing it, we'll see one soon enough) so I decided to beat the rest to the punch. Weasel's more or less Smythe's left hand. The one who does the dirty work and likes it. He especially likes it when women are involved. Fancies himself a lady-killer which can be read in several ways. He was augmented by Umbrella upon joining up with Smythe, increasing his already excellent capabilities as a Hunter-Killer and torturer. Real piece of work this one.

Hammer:

Well…Hammer's mainly my answer to Jack Krauser with a pinch of Stallone-Schwarzenegger humor. Like Weasel, he has been augmented by Umbrella allowing him abilities beyond human comprehension. He seems dull-witted only because I haven't gone far with his character. Fiercely loyal to Smythe to the point of blind devotion, Hammer is charged primarily with the care of Smythe's young companion, Scarlett.

Scarlett:

Not sure where I got this idea from. Probably some anime I got angry at. Scarlett is a 15-16 year old girl who accompanies Smythe wherever he goes. Smythe sort of treats her as his surrogate daughter, keeping her close by and often indulging her every want and desire…which isn't a whole lot. Silent and mysterious, she's meant to be the enigma of the story which I must say; I'm doing a pretty good job at. Like Hammer, she is devoted to Smythe, but their connection is on a completely different level. And before you ask: No, it is NOT sexual.

The Kodiak:

Umm…Big ass bear with bigger assed claws? Okay, I'll be frank with you, the idea of a zombie bear seemed lame to me until I watched a special on National Geographic on the American Sun Bears. Now those bastards were real killing machines despite they're lumbering, oft loveable appearance. I remember reading somewhere that in Siberia, bears are known to maul tigers, which to me, sounds pretty damned vicious. And besides, the idea of a Nemesis-like hunter stalking behind the storm seemed too irresistible to me. What can I say, I'm a sadistic perfectionist. Well, most of the time anyway.

Jeremiah Smythe:

The biggest joy for me is to write this character. Jeremiah Smythe is my answer to Osmund Saddler, Alexia Ashford, Birkin and every other RE villain to grace the screen. I was going for class with Smythe, so I went to the classiest Bat-villain I know: Ra's Al Ghul. Polite. Humorous. Calm. Tactful. English. Evil. Yes, I believe in the old adage: Nothing says evil like an English accent. Smythe plays the role of the mysterious antagonist who comes to Stonefeather to retrieve the weapon he commissioned Blake to create. His loyalty to Umbrella is questionable but he has proven too valuable an asset to simply dispose of. Smythe's agenda is unknown and he controls a sizeable amount of Umbrella since the demise of Marcus and Ashford. He has the nominal trust of Ozwell Spencer, but not enough that he would leave his company solely in Smythe's hands, hence the animosity between Wesker and Smythe (in this story anyway). For the benefit of the story, Smythe's origins are hidden but I can say that he has been around for awhile and is probably older than Spencer, Wesker and the other Umbrella big wigs. Probably even older than Umbrella proper. He has two passions: Theatre and science, the latter winning out for his attention. He also tends to take things a little too easy and admits to having too much fun even for him. Smythe hand-picked Hammer and Weasel from the numerous Umbrella mercenaries available to join his faction of Umbrella. The have served him well, hence he gives them a certain amount of freedom, though he tends to be at ends with Weasel's treatment of women. Despite his calm and rather pleasant appearance, Smythe commands respect and fear from all around him. His presence even unnerves Albert Wesker who has seen his share of mutants, zombies and other creatures. The name Jeremiah, I took from the Bible in reference to the Hebrew Prophet Jeremiah who was in effect, angry at everyone. I found this rather humorous when I decided on the name. Smythe was just a name I remembered from my old Spider-Man comics. I figured one more Smythe in the world couldn't hurt right? Appearance-wise, I'd say Smythe's a cross between Morpheus "Transvestite Mutant" Duvall and another DC villain I'm fond of: The Shade. Maybe this is cross-referencing too much to comics, but hey like I said, I'm a Bat-worshipper long before I am a Bat-fan.

I realized half-way that there was no way I was going to pull off this story and still get readers to give me some positives reviews without at least one connection to the current RE. Most writers on do very well without existing characters, but since this was my first fanfic and I wasn't really looking forward to getting bad if not no reviews at all( I'm a bit of a stickler for this. Ego needs to be stroked from time to time I suppose). I fought the urge to put Claire in my story. As much as she is my sweetheart, she didn't fit in Stonefeather, so I decided on another prominent female character. Ada Wong carried herself with much poise and mystery in RE2. She did pretty much the same in RE4 though I guess she was going for sultry too. The Bond girl feel in RE4 didn't leave much of an impression on me, but I felt that if I could peg her character right (which I hope I've done so, so far…) I could get used to her. Just for the record, the combat suit I mention in the story is more or less what she wears in Assignment Ada. Red dress in Sub-Zero temperatures? I don't think even the talented Ms.Wong would go so far simply to be all sultry. Let me admit to you now: I'm not very good at writing females. Having few experiences with women, fewer still pleasant ones (boy, those are stories to tell), I felt I had little experience writing a female character, especially a strong one like Ada. And a feminist backlash was truly something I sought to avoid. I thought of what Jack Nicholson said in As Good As It Gets when he was asked how he wrote women so well. His answer was classic: "I think of a man and take away reason and accountability." Of course, this approach sounded promising, but rather than risk the female fans tearing me a new one, I went with the smart, strong-willed, sexy female professional with ulterior motives. You'll probably notice the number of times I relate "Strong" to "Ada". That's bad writing on my part, cautious writing on part of my cowardly side. Why not Jill you might ask? Personally speaking? I don't know her that well. I never played RE 1, nor the Remake and 3 portrayed as a pretty shallow gal. I've never read a single RE novel and the Wildstorm comics do little to no justice to any of the characters. So rather than risk the wrath of the Jill fans, I decided to write a character of which I was nominally familiar with. Sorry guys. Another problem came about: What can I write about Ada? She'd never fall for Drake; after all, she has eyes for Leon! (?) Plus the readers would fart on it. Word of advice: Never write a fictitious relationship between an existing character and your own. Unless you're a pretty damn good writer. Even so, I'd advise against it. So, my dilemma was this: Interaction between Drake and Ada. The scene in the pharmacy was re-written three times before I could decide what I wanted them to talk about. Ada mentioned a boyfriend back in RE2, so I thought I could talk about that. After three sentences, scrap. Maybe Ada could talk about a guy like Drake, maybe mention Leon. This one went a little further, I wrote six sentences before tearing up my paper. Then after listening to my mom nag at me to take out the trash, I got the answer: Moms. I mean, I talked about Drake's dad, Drake's dad's dad, his dad and so on. But I never mentioned anything about his mother. I ventured as far as to write a little background on Ada's past. I thought: "What kind of background would Ada have come from?" Well, she is an established cultured character, has quite the fashion sense and is sociable. Artist seemed most fitting to me. Some readers might disagree. I implore you to understand that little to nothing is written about neither Ada's past nor her family, so I guess I used my…creative license a little. Apologies all around to those who disagree.

On a final note, I'd like to thank the following for their support: Dav Strife and Lady-Ithil. Dav's been very nice to me and has supported the story strongly, while the good Lady, though she hasn't been around in quite awhile, has been a source of great advice and support. Thanks guys. Glad to know someone likes my work. Ass-kissing you say? Hells yeah, but at least I do it in good taste. Cheers and stayed tuned for more of Cold Grave! (Original title was meant to be Sub-Zero. Bad huh?)


	9. Act 7

Act 7: Eye of the Storm

The storm's harsh winds subsided slightly while Drake trudged through the snow, his eyes though protected by a pair of goggles, they did little to enhance his vision with their frost-covered lenses. Was the Razor finally running its course Drake wondered? "Fat chance," the young lawman muttered, disdain thick in his voice. He wandered about aimlessly; looking for his grandfather and Ada Wong whom he'd had separated with so abruptly when they were attacked by the Kodiak, the monstrous mutant bear. The beast was ferocious before its transformation and its change did little for its temperament, as Drake witnessed first-hand, its destructive power. He felt for the diskette in his pocket, assuring he that it was there. His thoughts fled back to Federal Agent Ada Wong and assumed that the diskette belonged to her since he found it along with her gun. Probably it was the evidence hat she had procured from Blake's lair. Or so she claimed.

Things weren't as they seemed, that much Drake was certain. The townsfolk mysteriously becoming zombies, Ada Wong's appearance with her half-truths and veiled motives, the accusation of Blake being a supposed Arms dealer, Mayor Bernard's aid in helping Blake with his "experiments", the mysterious Jeremiah Smythe…things simply didn't add up. And with little time to think about it, Drake couldn't fit the pieces together, although one thing was certain, Ada wasn't all she said she was. Drake gave the closing moments in Blake's mansion heavy thought. Ada pointed the gun at him for a reason. To be rid of him? Or was it to avoid having to deal with him as a zombie? Or both? So now came the question, if Wong were really in danger, where would Drake stand?

"Like the tempest fury, the storm rages on. Its frosty winds would extinguish even the fiercest of infernos," a voice boomed, prompting Drake to turn a lamppost, noting the announcement speakers attached underneath its dead lights, part of the early warning system the town set up years ago. The passage read was familiar to Drake, the voice that read it eloquently he was most certain of. Jeremiah Smythe. "Yet the fires in the hearts of the people of Stonefeather shall never be extinguished and will burn everlasting in the hearts of our children in this place we call home," he continued. "Quaint, but rather inspiring I must admit," Smythe chuckled, Drake grinding his teeth at the sound of the man's disembodied voice. "Sheriff Hartmann, I trust you are doing well since our last encounter," he said, not a hint of arrogance or snide to contradict him. Drake moved on, knowing the town had several speakers all about. He wouldn't miss any of Smythe's speech. "I believe, you may be in possession of something that belongs to me. A diskette to be more precise."

Drake stopped in his tracks as two zombies lumbered into view, one of them turning to face Drake. Drake backed off slightly, his gun pointed at the zombie while the scent of fresh blood drove them towards him in frenzy. "Of course, I wouldn't dream of you simply returning it to me," continued Smythe while Drake fired at the attacking zombies, nailing one in the knees to send to stumbling forward. The other tripped over its fallen friend but recovered quickly to his feet as he scurried onwards towards Drake, mouth agape. Drake whipped out his knife, a slash across the zombie's face sent it stumbling back while the other grabbed onto his legs, its strong grip pulling Drake off his feet. "But perhaps a trade would appeal to you then? Ah, no doubt you must be thinking I have nothing that would interest you," spoke Jeremiah Smythe. 'Got that right' Drake thought as he smashed the heel of his shoe into his attacker's face, the blow forcing the zombie to release its grip while Drake placed a bullet in its head. Drake rose quickly while his other attacker attempted a pounce, only to have Drake's gun jammed into its gut, the sounds of three shots echoing throughout town along with the buzz of radio static emitting from the live speakers. "But perhaps you'll reconsider when you hear this." Drake shoved the dead body off of him; fresh blood on his already stained garments.

"Hartmann, whatever he says, don't…" the sound of a voice being muffled forced a dark expression on Drake's face. Ada. Smythe had Ada.

"You know where to find me," Smythe said finally, the buzz of static ceasing almost instantaneously. Drake frowned, pulling out the diskette. Whatever was on it must have been important but was it worth a person's life? Was Wong even worth it? Drake cursed under his breath. There was no choice really. He was the town's sheriff. And protecting people was what sheriff's did. Drake tucked his gun under is shirt and clenched his teeth hard as he headed for Stonefeather Elementary.

Daniel Hartmann remained silent throughout the mysterious announcement, heading for the town's Elementary school upon hearing the familiar Stonefeather Oath. He was somewhat thankful to know that somewhere out there, his grandson Drake was still all right, but wondered who or what he was dealing with. The man mentioned a trade, a diskette for Ada Wong, the Federal Agent Drake mentioned. Those behind the appearance of these zombies must have captured her. Drake was going to need help and Daniel was never one to shy away from a fight. He looked up at heavy snowfall, detecting a change in the winds. The eye of the storm was upon Stonefeather and Daniel prayed silently that Drake and him could brace it.

He reached the Elementary School a little under an hour, cautious of the Kodiak which was still out there somewhere and the zombies that lay hidden waiting for easy meat. Anger and frustration, more than fear now gripped Drake's heart but his tongue still tasted sour when he reached the doors of Stonefeather Elementary. Without much hesitation, Drake opened the door, sweeping his gaze all throughout the perimeter with his weapon at the ready. His caution paid off as four zombies standing in the hall turned to Drake, murderous intent in their eyes. The zombies ran towards Drake, three of them were once men, knocking down the sole female one as they came towards him in ravenous bloodlust. Drake didn't wait for them, firing accurately as slugs tore through their innards, splattering blood and guts on the polished school floor. One of them managed to come within reach of Drake only to have his knife jammed into its head. The zombie stumbled back, the hilt of the weapon sticking out of his head like a horn of a unicorn before finally falling dead to the ground. With some effort, Drake yanked out the knife, shooting the last female zombie as it rose to its feet. The bullets cut her down easily, Drake remorselessly kicking it down again before delivering the deathblow. He didn't look at her face. He didn't want to.

Drake searched every classroom and office in the building. He checked the labs, the Janitor's quarters and the cafeteria. He took a trip down into the boiler room, the usually noisy room now cold with silent tubes and the sounds of dripping. He found nothing. He took a trip to the Principal's office, finding the announcement microphone on the desk. The announcement system was tied to three places: The Sheriff's Department, Town Hall and Stonefeather Elementary. It was to prevent breakdowns in communications in case something important needed to be announced. He noted the plaque that hung above the door of the Principal's office. Engraved in gold: '_Like the tempest fury, the storm rages on. Its frosty winds would extinguish even the fiercest of infernos. Yet the fires in the hearts of the people of Stonefeather shall never be extinguished and will burn everlasting in the_ _hearts_ _of our children in this place we call home_. The Stonefeather Oath. It was what every kid born in Stonefeather was first taught. That Stonefeather survives. He gave the words one last thought before turning away. Stonefeather survives, and so would he. Then he noted something. He turned to the window left of the Principal's desk, next to the School flag. He strained his eyes, making out shadows in the storm. They were in the yard.

The creaking of dry hinges echoed alongside the howls of the wind as Drake returned outside. The schoolyard was silent and desolate like a grave. Where once children would run and play was now a deathly plain of ice and snow. He passed a pair of seesaws, moving slightly as the wind passed, like the ghosts of the children who once played atop them. He passed an unmoving merry-go-round, its bright red covered under layers of snow. The creaking grew louder the deeper Drake went until he finally reached its origin. She sat on the swing, made out of ventilated tire rubber, and suspended from a metal frame by a pair of old chains. She swung herself slowly, back and forth while the hinges of the frame gave out their sharp creak. Next to her hung Ada Wong, the swing that was once there gone. Instead, her arms, in the chains meant to hold the seat of the swing, suspended her from the frame. She was conscious, remaining silent and rather calm despite her current predicament. Drake turned to the girl on the swing, recognizing her immediately as Smythe's companion, the enigmatic Scarlett. Behind her stood two men Drake had never seen. On her right was a man dressed in a bloodied silk shirt and an Armani jacket. A scar on his throat distracted Drake from the man's features but noted the menacing stare he gave him. The other was a large man with dirty blonde hair, cropped shortly in soldierly fashion. He stood bare-bodied, dressed in only a pair of tundra camouflage pants and combat boots, his large muscles a testament to the strength the man probably had. His Slavic features gave him a serious let somewhat dull look but Drake knew very well how looks could be deceiving. "So nice of you to join us Sheriff Hartmann," a voice said. The two men stood aside giving way to the last member of the entourage. Jeremiah Smythe stood forward, hands behind his back. He gave Drake a thoughtful nod and circled the suspended Ada with faint interest. "Well then," he began, turning to Drake. "I am certain you would want no harm to befall the lovely Miss Wong," he said, cocking his head slightly in Ada's direction. "The diskette if you will?" he demanded.

Drake frowned slightly, his gaze shifting from Smythe, to his men and Ada. The odds were pretty much stacked against him. "How do I know you'll release her?" Drake demanded, silently cursing himself for being so predictable as him mind raced to think of a way to save Ada.

Smythe sniffed slightly. "Forgive me for being somewhat blunt but I don't think you really have a choice," he admitted. "I have Ada Wong, you have the diskette. I have two well-trained operatives with me whilst you're down to a half-spent firearm and possibly a blade of sorts. I'm afraid that you are in no position to bargain." He walked a few steps towards Drake, the creaking of the swing stopped as Scarlett sensed danger. Smythe halted a few inches away from Drake. He gave the young lawman a pitying smile. "Now that we know where we are," he whispered, holding out his hand. "The diskette if you would be so kind?" Drake stared daggers into Smythe's eyes that seemed nonchalant about Drake's anger. Drake looked at Smythe's black-gloved hand, reaching into his pocket for the diskette in question. After fighting every urge he had to stick a knife into his adversary, he handed the diskette to Smythe who gave it a disinterested look, uncertain of the genuineness of the item.

The sound of thunder interrupted Drake and Smythe, both of them turning to see Daniel Hartmann armed with a shotgun blasting into Hammer and Weasel. The two retainers, caught off guard by the sudden attack recoiled to recover, Hammer grabbing Scarlett, using his body to shield Smythe's ward. Weasel charged at the old man with deadly speed but Daniel was ready for him, blasting the other man in his stomach. The shell releasing multiple slugs that tore through Weasel's lower abdomen. Weasel stopped in his tracks, giving Daniel ample time to swing the butt of his weapon into Weasel's temple. The wood splintered on impact, knocking Weasel to the ground. Daniel shifted his attention to the ensnared Ada Wong. Smythe turned to stop him when he heard something drop at his feet. He spun around to see Drake running some distance away from him and then looked down to see a cylindrical object with several red stripes. "Oh my," managed Smythe with one raised eyebrow before the grenade detonated.

Drake shielded his eyes as snow blew up in wake of the explosion. He headed straight for Ada and his grandfather, helping him to undo the chains that held her in place. "Come on!" he ordered once Ada was free. The three began running, Ada managing a fleeting glance at her captors before disappearing into the storm.

"Boss!" screamed Weasel as he struggled to his feet.

"Sir!" bellowed Hammer, equally anxious as he rushed to the sight of the explosion, a wide-eyed Scarlett in his arms. The sight of a burnt severed arm froze Scarlett's blood, fighting free of Hammer's grip, she fell to her knees, her hands hovering over the still warm arm. Tears filled her eyes when she picked it up, Weasel and Hammer standing silent behind her.

She looked up to see the smoke settle; the blur of tears almost made her miss the sight of a silhouette rising from the snow and smoke. Her lips parted, dropping the arm while she rushed towards the figure. Jeremiah Smythe stood tall, ash staining the right side of his otherwise black coat. His right sleeve gone to reveal blackened and bloodied flesh where his arm once was. Weasel and Hammer stared in disbelief at their leader. Despite the loss of an arm, he still looked as strong as ever. Scarlett stopped in her tracks, looking at Smythe's right shoulder. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her lips trembling, threatening to utter the sound of a sob. Smythe brushed off the ash off his coat slightly before bending on one knee to look Scarlett in the eye. "All is well," he whispered, wiping away the tears from her eyes with his remaining hand. He assured her with a smile accepting her embrace silently, looking at his severed arm in the corner of his eye.

"…You…okay boss?" Weasel asked with uncertainty while Smythe rose to his feet. He tried not to look at the bloodied stump but failed miserably at it.

"I'm fine," Smythe assured his employee, his voice the same calm and eloquent tone as before. He looked at the swing set where Ada Wong once hung. "Though this certainly is a most interesting turn of events," he commented, bending down to look at his own arm, its fingers tightly wrapped around the diskette he had gotten from Sheriff Hartmann. Without much thought, he freed the diskette from the grip of his own severed arm and placed it into his coat pocket. "Rather bold of Sheriff Hartmann wouldn't you say? And the old man who surprised us. Was that the man you mentioned before Weasel?" Smythe asked, placing his arm around Scarlett.

Weasel felt for his temple where the old timer had slugged him good, a trail of blood flowing down the right of his face. "That's the guy boss," he confirmed. He grinded his teeth in anger. "What now boss? We hunt them down?"

Smythe nodded. "Wong will be a problem, however her companions will slow her down. We have the diskette so we need not concern ourselves with her well-being," he said, turning to Weasel. "Hartmann and the old man on the other hand are still mysteries I wish to unravel," he gave Weasel an approving nod. "Do what you want with Wong. Take Hartmann and the old man alive," he started to walk away, Scarlett following close by. "And if they prove to problematic, I'm sure I could work just as well with them if they were missing an arm or leg," he said. Weasel smiled at the sweet sound of permission, turning to the direction where he last saw Wong and her friends.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wait," gasped Daniel between breaths as he struggled to keep up with the others. He wasn't as young as he used to be; his wheezing confirmed his suspicions that he was running on empty. Drake turned to his grandfather breathing just as hard from what had transpired earlier. He'd used Ada's grenade in hopes of putting an end to Smythe for good however gut instinct told him that Smythe was far from dead. They stood in an open junction, waiting for Daniel to catch his breath while recollecting themselves.

Ada grabbed Drake by the shoulders and turned him to face her. "The diskette?" she demanded.

With a frown, Drake pulled himself free of Wong. "With Smythe. I didn't want to risk getting you killed," he replied.

"Don't you realize what you've done?" growled Ada. It was the first time Drake had seen her so close to anger.

"He saved your ass, that's what he did," countered Daniel in the defense of his grandson's actions. Drake placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder, easing the old man back.

Ada frowned and looked away with a sigh. "Look," she began. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you've done, but there's more to what's happening than meets the eye. The information in that diskette is vital if we're going to prove anything to the authorities. It's what we need to put Blake away forever," she explained. "I need to go back and get it," she declared.

"Like Hell you are!" Daniel exclaimed. "Listen Fed, we're in a town full of flesh-eating zombies that are looking to take a bite out of all of us and the last thing I want to do is spend another minute in this nightmare. We need to get out, call the Marines or something for help. And personally, I don't want to see Blake locked up," he said grimly. "I want to see him dead."

Drake remained silent even as his heart skipped a beat upon hearing his grandfather expressing his murderous intent. He pulled out Ada's GLOCK, handing it to her butt first. "Whatever we're going to do, we do it together," Drake stated firmly. He looked up at Wong with frustration in his eyes. "Smythe may be out of commission but his boys are still out there, and so is the Kodiak."

"Kodiak?" Daniel queried.

"Big monster bear," Drake explained.

"Christ this just gets better every minute doesn't it," the old man muttered.

"Didn't you make a back-up of the diskette?" Drake asked.

Ada smiled. "I copied nearly all of it on my portable Communicator. It's with Smythe's boys but I encrypted it with a code that only I know. But, they could crack its using the code I originally used to break open the information in the first place."

"Which is on the diskette," Drake surmised. Ada nodded in response. "Yup. Better every minute," Drake agreed, prompting a frown from Ada.

"So what now Sheriff?" Ada asked while she checked her GLOCK.

"We get out of here. Post haste," he declared.

"Now we're talking," Daniel agreed. "But how? I checked roads and the west tunnel was blocked."

Drake turned to his grandfather. "Remember when dad was killed down in the mines?" Drake asked.

Daniel winced at the question, swallowing hard as he listened to what his grandson had to saw. After giving the scenario some thought, Daniel shook his head. "Drake," he began. "It's far too risky to try something so…well…stupid. I mean, God knows what the Hell is in those mines since these zombies started popping outta the woodwork. And on top of that, the only road to the mines is blocked."

Drake frowned at the last statement. "The quickest way between two points is a straight line," Ada commented.

"What?" Drake asked.

"The lake. Why go around it when we can just cross it? It should be frozen, correct?" she said.

Drake cocked an eyebrow and turned to his grandfather. The old man shook his head in disapproval. "Old wisdom states to be wary of thin ice Drake. And you know as well as I do that the lake isn't all that solid," he countered.

"We don't have a choice in the matter old timer," Ada interjected.

"Listen you miserable little pissant bit-

"That's enough grandpa," Drake interrupted before his grandfather could complete the curse. He turned to Ada. "He's right, the lake isn't all that solid, especially near the center and it is big lake. We don't even know if this chasm is still open. It doesn't seem worth the risk," Drake said. He looked around the desolate junction, at storehouses and cars with shattered windows, bloodstained snow and fallen lampposts. It was like a scene of a frozen hell. "But staying here isn't exactly a smart choice either."

"Then we're back to square one," Ada muttered. She looked at street before them; her eyes narrow slits as she tried to make out any threats. "Alright, how about this: you and I go and check the mines. See if there is an escape route we can use. Sergeant Rock here looks for a "safer" alternative. We meet back at your house in two hours."

"What is this? Some high school prank? 'Meet back at your house in two hours'? I just said if we were doing anything, we'd do it together," argued Drake.

"No. She's right kid. We're not exactly privy to a lot of choices here. Besides," Daniel paused for a moment. "I'm not exactly going to be of much help when it comes to blows."

Drake's eyes widened at the last remark. "You're not a burden. You won't be a burden," Drake assured his grandfather.

Daniel shook his head. He raised his shotgun by the remains of its splintered butt. "We'll see." Drake handed him the shells he had found earlier with a heavy heart. He had just reunited with his grandfather only to be separated again. "Home, two hours," Daniel confirmed before turning his back on them. Drake watched as the old man march into the blizzard without hesitation, turning away with regret at the decision made. He only prayed that the choice made was the right one.

Glancing at Ada, Drake cocked his head in the direction of the lake. "Let's go."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Good God!" exclaimed Blake upon seeing his employer's condition.

"Not quite Wilson," replied Smythe humorlessly as he eased himself into Blake's command chair. Smythe could already read the hundreds of questions going through Blake's mind. "An encounter with our dear friend Sheriff Hartmann," he explained. "He certainly has more guile than I would have imagined." Smythe looked at the burn marks and the tatters on the right side of his double-breasted coat, rising to his feet to remove it. Blake watched in horror while Smythe disrobed himself handing the coat to the nearby Hammer who accepted it from Smythe's good hand, the deep purple scarf wrapped around his neck. He unwound the scarf, wincing at the blood and black stains that adorned the remains of the tattered sleeve of his white shirt. His expression seemed more out of distaste rather than pain. "Fetch my other coat," he asked Hammer who nodded in acceptance of the order. He returned to his seat, glancing at the nearby mini-bar. "Some Scotch Wilson?" he asked.

Blake stood confused for a moment before finally heading for the mini-bar. "You're…not in any pain?" he asked as he poured the liquor carefully into Smythe's glass.

"Well having an explosive blow off your arm is not the most pleasant experience I've had," admitted Smythe, accepting the drink with his gloved left hand. "But the initial discomfort has subsided," Smythe remarked, as though he were talking of a new pair of shoes.

"Hartmann?"

"Still loose, but Weasel should be on his trail," he said raising his glass to Blake for a refill. As Blake returned to the mini-bar, Smythe fished out the diskette he had received from Hartmann from his deep blue vest. "Here," he handed the diskette to Blake when he returned with his drink. Blake accepted the diskette before placing the glass in Smythe's hand. "I trust you won't lose it this time?" he commented with a hint of scorn before taking a sip of the Scotch.

Blake nodded. "Rest assured sir. From now on, it'll be smooth sailing," said Blake confidently while he slipped the diskette into his pocket. "In fact, if you would permit, I think I might have a way to solve our little pest problem."

"Do tell," said Smythe, finishing his drink.

Hammer arrived with a fresh black double-breasted coat, handing it to Scarlett who appeared eager to help Smythe put it on. She stood on her toes as she waited for Smythe to slip his remaining arm into the left sleeve of the coat. He bent down slightly to make his ward's job easier, then kneeling on one knee to allow her to tuck his scarf neatly into his coat. After donning his new garment, Smythe followed Blake to another chamber in one of the lower levels of his hideaway. It was a Gene-Splicing lab, Smythe recognizing the equipment instantly. A number of tubes lined one end of the room, each tube holding a strange cocoon-like object, floating in a chemical solution of sorts. Smythe raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious at the sight.

"I call them Pack Hunters," said Blake with excitement as he fiddled with a control panel nearby. A hissing sound turned Smythe and Hammer's attention from Blake to the tubes. The solution drained from them at an alarming rate, the glass tubes slowly rising to expose the cocoons to air. Blake stood next to Smythe with a gleeful expression on his face. The cocoons began to stir when a long blade stabbed through the flesh-like shell. The first of the creatures pulled itself free from its cocoon, a headless one-eyed, black-skinned monstrosity standing on talon-covered bird-like legs. Where there should have been arms were silvery curved blades that somewhat resembled the claws of a Praying Mantis. Seven others, quickly joined the first of the creatures all letting out a strange sound, like the murmurs of the dead. They swayed about swiping slightly at one another as Blake rubbed his hands in satisfaction. "They're pre-programmed thanks to my special nano-tech neural implants. They'll do whatever I'll tell them too."

"I see," Smythe said, mildly impressed. "I'm surprised you found the time to pursue…other interests Wilson."

"There wasn't much to do once I finished the weapon. Thought I'd brush off the old gene-splicing skills," he replied.

Smythe smiled. Perhaps it was time to close the book on Wong and Sheriff Hartmann. Though he was truly curious to examine the Sheriff's unique genetic gift, he wasn't making it easy. Without realizing it, Smythe found himself stroking his empty right sleeve. 'Oh well' he thought. 'It will grow back eventually'.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I didn't mean to snap at you back there," Ada said, breaking the silence as she followed Drake in the direction of the lake. Drake didn't respond. He didn't even turn back to acknowledge her. Not many men could stay angry with her, but apparently Hartmann was more than comfortable with it to Ada's dismay. "It's just that…I've always focused on the assignment. Sometimes a little too much," she explained. "And it's been awhile since I had to work with others."

"Why'd you point your gun at me in Blake's mansion?" Drake asked without turning to face her.

Ada wasn't surprised at the question but rather at his tone. Dark anger wrapped under shreds of self-control. "I was afraid that you'd been infected by the virus," she answered. The sheriff came to a sudden stop, placing his gun hand on his hip and the other over his face. The lake was already in view; just another ten minutes' walk down the street where suburban houses lined each side. Some of them had their windows shattered and their doors broken down. Others were covered in thick and heavy snow forcing rooftops to collapse. A barrier of cars and other vehicles twisted by the Razor and the zombies sealed the street behind them. It took them sometime before they could climb over it as zombies attacked them suddenly. It almost seemed like the perfect death trap.

Drake spun around to look her in the eye. "You've dealt with this before then," Drake surmised.

Ada nodded slightly. "Yes," she answered softly. To her surprise, Drake's expression softened.

"Look, I've more or less come to some conclusions of my own over what's going on but I think I'd rather hear the truth from someone who knows," he said frankly. "So why don't you do me a favor and give me the low down on what's really going on."

Just as Ada opened her mouth to speak a harsh laughter interrupted her, the two quickly raising their arms in the direction of the sound. Weasel sat on the front porch of one of the houses, a sinister smile on his face. "Ain't this cute?" Weasel said. "Boy sheriff there doesn't have a clue about what's going on," he scoffed. He rose to his feet, dusting flakes of snow off his left shoulder. He glanced at Drake with a sneer. "Pretty nasty thing. What you did to the boss. No biggie though. He's alright, eager to return the favor in fact," he said. "Tell ya what, you come all quiet and such and I'll be happy to fill you in on what's going down."

Drake frowned. "Smythe's already got what he wants. What does he want with me?" he demanded.

"Well, you did try to blow him up. Guess maybe he wants to return the favor," replied Weasel as he slowly unbuttoned his bloodied silk shirt. "'Course the boss did say you didn't have to be in one piece," he said slyly as he revealed his hideous mutation. The monstrous teeth-rowed mouth on his abdomen opened itself. "And I'm getting hungry."

A tentacle swept out and disarmed Drake in an instant, his weapon suddenly in Weasel's hands. "Get down!" screamed Ada as Weasel began firing Drake's Beretta. Drake felt a bullet graze his arm, the searing heat of hot lead shocking him while he dived for cover. Ada returned fire with her own weapon, while Drake watched, defenseless. Weasel laughed a maniacal laughter as Ada's bullets punched through him, striding forward with Drake's gun in hand. The exchange of bullets was short lived when Drake's gun went dry.

"Piece of junk," muttered Weasel, dropping the weapon to the ground. Drake seized the moment, charging towards Weasel, knife in hand. Sensing the attack, Ada laid down effective cover fire, her shots nailing Weasel in both shoulders and grazing his jugular. Weasel swung his tendrils towards Ada, not noticing Sheriff Hartmann mere inches away. Drake slashed at one of Weasel's outreached tentacles, the snake-like limb recoiling quickly while Weasel spun around to strike Drake. A tendril pulled Drake off his feet, the fall knocking the wind out of Hartmann. He struggled, swinging at the tendril as Weasel dragged him closer to his monstrous mutated stomach. Ada was quick to react, immediately firing a well-aimed shot at the tendril, forcing Weasel to release his grip. Weasel clenched his jaw tightly while he tried to regain control of the situation. He backed off, waiting for an opening. Drake scrambled for his weapon, quickly reloading the gun with a fresh clip while Ada dealt with Weasel. The firing suddenly stopped, prompting Drake to spin around to see that the gun was out of Ada's hands.

"Down!" she screamed as Weasel took hold of the weapon. Hot lead flew through the air, grazing Drake's left cheek. Having dealt with only zombies and their close-ranged attacks, Drake was slow to react to a gunfight though he had been trained to excel in such situations years ago. The searing pain on his face snapped him back to reality, Drake immediately keeping low and returned fire. The shots caught Weasel off guard, punching holes through his already bloodied chest but the mutated assassin held his ground, even managing a sinister smile while blood trickled down his chin. Drake dodged an incoming tendril and quickly rolled under gunfire. He raised his head in time to see Weasel coming at him, tossing Ada's weapon to the ground. His tendrils whipped all around him whilst his monstrous mouth let out a hideous moan. The tendrils struck Drake hard, forcing him to shield himself with his arms. Weasel took the opportunity to reach for Drake's unprotected firearm only to have a slash mark appear on his chest. Drake's knife sliced through Weasel's flesh like a knife through butter when he realized that all Weasel was doing was going for his weapon. The tendrils reacted violently, sweeping across the ground in search of something to ensnare while Weasel stumbled back from the blow.

"Son of a bitch," muttered Weasel, holding the wound. He was breathing hard now, staring hard at Hartmann who stood equally exhausted, his gun and knife at the ready. He was better than Weasel expected, probably trained with SWAT or a Special Forces outfit. Still, he was just human. Weasel should have ended this fight within its first minute. "You're a tough little bastard, I'll give you that much," admitted Weasel as he straightened himself. "But you're luck's run out kid." Weasel suddenly bowled over to Drake's surprise, his facial expression tightened as though something was trying to force its way out of his body. Flesh and blood erupted from Weasel's back, more tentacles popping out from out of the man's body. The sight froze Drake's blood. Just what the Hell was he dealing with? "Let's rumba," sneered Weasel, rising to his feet. The bloodied tendrils came at Drake from all sides, whipping Drake into a world of hurt but the sheriff kept a tight grip on his weapon, using his knife to keep the serpentine limbs away from his firearm. Two of the tentacles seized his arms while another two pulled him of his feet, forcing him to the ground. Drake struggled wildly like an animal caught in a net while Weasel dragged him towards his gaping mouth. Weasel's laughter seemed to signify the end when a gunshot punched a hole through Weasel's throat. The shot caused Weasel to release his grip of Drake while he turned to see Ada lowering her weapon, gun smoke shadowing her face slightly but not enough to conceal her satisfied smile. A takedown from behind forced Weasel to the ground, Drake using Ada's distraction to its fullest. Weasel struggled hard as his serpent-like tentacles coiled themselves around Drake's arms and neck in an attempt to pull him off but the lawman would not budge even as the tendril tightened around his throat. He pulled at Weasel's hair and jammed his weapon against his temple.

"Give up," managed Drake while the tendril tightened itself around Drake's neck, choking him.

"Like Hell," sputtered Weasel as blood flowed out his mouth.

Tears began to form in Drake's eyes as he felt the air to his lungs slowly being cut off. It was either he or Weasel. No decision really. Blood splattered onto his face as Weasel's head exploded, bone and brain staining the snow and the sheriff like a melon bursting. Ada's eyes widened at the sight, the sheer brutality of the coup de grace sending a shiver down her spine. The tendrils loosened themselves around Drake's neck and finally fell limp. Ada strode to Drake's side after she felt sure that it was over, helping the sheriff up. Drake spat out some blood that he was certain was not his own. "Never doing that again," he said as he wiped the blood off his face.

"Didn't think you would," agreed Ada as she looked at Weasel's now dead body. "You okay?"

"Just barely," muttered Drake while he massaged his neck. "I didn't want to kill him."

"He didn't leave you with much of a choice Sheriff," Ada said. "Come on. We better move on."

Drake nodded silently, holstering his weapon as he led the way. When Drake was a comfortable distance away from her, Ada reached for Weasel's body and searched it. She pulled out her Communicator from Weasel's jacket, the screen covered in blood but otherwise, undamaged. She pocketed the device and quickly rejoined Hartmann who was already at the edge of the lake. The sight stunned Ada. "That's the lake?" she asked in disbelief. The lake was huge, almost like a frozen lagoon covered in ice and snow. The simple crossing she had in mind had suddenly been dashed.

"Welcome to Stonefeather," muttered Drake.


End file.
